Invincible
by LavenderTown
Summary: AU: Arthur Kirkland is a record store clerk by day, but at night he becomes England, star fighter for a notorious underground boxing club. What happens when an infuriating 19-year-old suddenly barges into his life?
1. Prologue

**Prologue:**

The stink of sweat and cheap booze sits thick in his nostrils. A yellow fog, cast down from the dirty bar lights above surrounds him. Bets hollered out – the crowd is a mess of limbs and leers, swarming around the ring. And he, in the center of it all: the eye of the tornado.

"Oh man, you're a scrawny thing, ain't cha? This should be freaking cake…"

A deep breath. He turns his eyes up to face the other man:

Tall, bare-chested. Blond hair spiked with gel. Moronic, cocksure grin. And on his bicep, a tattoo of a flag: red with a white cross.

_A bloody Dane._

"Right, well that settles it…" he mutters dangerously. "You'll be going down fast and hard, _git_"

Cocky laughter from the other man: "Hahaha! Pretty sure of yourself, eh Mister British Gentleman? What do you think you are, _invincible?_"

A bloodthirsty smile curls itself around his lips. His growled reply is just barely loud enough to hear over the ring of the first bell:

"_Absolutely"_

* * *

**A/N:** Hi all! Welcome to my story. The setting is a modern day AU in the fine city of Boston. Expect much fluff, with a little action and angst thrown in too for kicks!

Haha, I feel bad for Denmark...


	2. Chapter 1: Indiana

**Chapter One:** Indiana

Arthur groaned and slumped against the back counter of the little record shop. Work was really the last place he wanted to be. His whole body ached something dreadful – it always did the day after a fight. In hindsight, he probably should have asked for the day off, but he needed the money. Rent in Boston was not cheap, no matter how dodgy one's apartment happened to be.

The one good thing about work that day was that it was the Saturday before Halloween, and people seemed to have better things to do with their time than browse through dusty racks of cds. Thus, Arthur had been free to work himself into as sour a mood as he pleased without fear of customer interference. This coveted (if rather masochistic) solitude continued on into the night, but was suddenly disrupted when three college-aged customers entered the store, dressed in costumes.

Arthur braced himself, already feeling the first prickles of irritation.

The middle one, (a short, dark-haired, Asian-looking fellow who appeared to be dressed as a cat), approached the back counter immediately, while the other two separated and began to wander around the store.

"Excuse me, sir, but do you know if Mister Heracles is working perhaps?" the dark haired boy asked timidly, blushing a bit more than the question allowed for.

"No, sorry" Arthur replied, lifting an eyebrow. "I don't think he's in today"

"Ahh," the boy sighed sadly, and Arthur felt a bit guilty for letting him down. "Thank you anyway" He went to rejoin one of his friends – a blond boy dressed in a rather provocative school girl costume, who immediately started going on about how the store "like, totally sucked" for not having the new Lady Gaga album yet.

_Oh, brilliant. Just what I needed tonight. A bunch of whiny scene kids._

Arthur rolled his eyes and picked up the box of returned cds he needed to put away, wincing a bit as he did. The weight was not being kind to his over-extended arm muscles. He brought the box out into the store, shifting it around awkwardly in attempts to make it easier to carry, but apparently he shifted too much because it pitched forward, tumbling from his grasp.

"Woah! Careful dude!" The box was saved at the last possible moment, and Arthur looked around it to find the third young customer – a tallish boy with wheat-blond hair and the bluest eyes Arthur had ever seen. The boy was dressed as Indiana Jones, and Arthur couldn't help but think that the costume (stupid as it was) suited him perfectly.

"Need some help?" The boy flashed him a dazzling smile and made to grab the box out of his hands. For a short moment all Arthur could do was stare, but he quickly got back his bearings.

"No, I'm quite all right on my own, thanks." Arthur huffed, pulling the box away. He was already embarrassed enough; he didn't want the boy to think he was weak on top of it all.

"You suuuuure?" the boy asked tauntingly, and Arthur had a half a mind to smack that cocky smirk right off his face.

"Of course I'm sure, you dolt! Now would you kindly bugger off and get out of my way?" he growled back.

"Alright, alright!" the boy replied as he stepped aside, smug grin still planted firmly on his lips. "Geez, I had no idea British people were so touchy…"

"Perhaps it's because you Americans seem to insist on being a right pain in the arse!" Arthur returned, marching past him into the aisle. Leaning the box against the table holding the cd racks, he began to sift through it and (not very delicately) sort the cds back in their appropriate places.

The boy followed him into the aisle. "You know, that's not very good customer service. I could report you to your manager…" he said, his tone clearly teasing. Arthur could feel his blood begin to boil.

"I _am_ the manager…" he snapped, wheeling about to glare at the boy. (He was actually only assistant manager, but the git didn't need to know that). "…And unless you plan to purchase something, _Mr. Jones_, I suggest you clear off before I really start to lose my temper."

The boy blinked in surprise, "How did you…?" he looked down at his costume "...oh yeah! Duh!" he smacked himself in the forehead, and Arthur found himself beginning to question the git's sanity.

"Okay," the boy replied, winking (to Arthur's ever-increasing agitation). "Guess I better find something to purchase then!" He turned toward the cds – lazily flipping through them with one hand while munching on a half-eaten fast food burger with the other. The boy hummed through his chewing, and Arthur knew he was doing it just to annoy him. But he for one refused to play into the git's juvenile games – he focused his attention back on sorting the cds, fully intent on ignoring the annoying American until he gave up and left.

Eventually though, curiosity got the best of Arthur. Sneaking a quick glance back at the annoying customer, who had by now stopped humming and was intently reading the back of a cd, Arthur found himself leaning forward just a bit to see what the boy had picked out. He pulled back in disgust when he realized it was one of those folksy hipster bands that seemed to be all the rage these days.

"You don't actually listen to that rubbish do you?" he asked, forgetting for a moment his pact to ignore the brat. _Damnit._

"Hm?" the boy turned to look at him, triumphant grin once again plastered across his face, clearly aware that he had won their unspoken battle. "Oh… nahh…" he answered, looking down at the cd. He took another bite of his burger before continuing:

"…my brofer's really into this shtuff..." he said through the half-chewed bite. Arthur looked on in horror.

"…but I'm more of a Journey guy myself" The boy finished proudly, swallowing the bite at last. Arthur was so repulsed by the whole burger display that it took a moment to fully comprehend what he'd just heard:

"_Journey?_" he repeated, completely incredulous. "You can't be serious!" He was so appalled he was almost stricken.

"'Course I am!" the git replied, smiling ridiculously. "Oh, c'mooon!" he insisted when Arthur only glared in return. "Midnight Train is like the most epic song there is!"

"Tripe and bollocks!" Arthur scoffed, growing more offended by the second "Honestly, a song that bloody cheesy would be better off baked into a biscuit than listened to!"

"But cheeshy is aweshome!" The boy replied through another mouth full of burger. Ugh. Really now, what was he? _Six?_

"_Perhaps" _Arthur muttered icily, eyes narrowed in disgust and annoyance. "…if you happen to be a mindless git who wouldn't know _real music_ if it kicked him in the arse. _And would it kill you _to _chew with your bloody mouth closed?" _he added out of sheer frustration, as the boy took another huge bite.

"Meh'be" the customer replied through the bite, offering up a cheeky smile in return.

"ARGH!"

"Okay then, mister music wizard…" the boy said as he swallowed, snickering at Arthur's exasperated growl. "…what kind of 'real music' should I be listening to then, huh?" He raised his eyebrows and looked over his glasses, the challenge gleaming in his impossibly-blue eyes.

Arthur crossed his arms and snorted. "Pshh, as if a university brat like you could appreciate anything of merit"

The boy stepped forward, forcing Arthur to look up in order to meet his gaze. "Try me" he said, in a lower, huskier register, and Arthur suddenly felt his blood rush through his veins the way it did right before a fight. Only this… this was… different…

"ALFRED! We're like, totally gonna be late for the party!" The schoolgirl-costumed boy called out suddenly. The blue-eyed boy (Alfred?) paused, looking reluctant to break the strangely intense moment they were sharing – but finally, he shrugged and sighed:

"Ahh well. I guess I'll have to take a rain check then. Nice talkin' to ya, uhhh…" he looked down at the name tag that hung around Arthur's neck:

"…Iggy Hotpants?"

"W-what? No! It's Arthur!" Arthur sputtered, heat rising to his face. He pulled the name tag up to inspect it for himself. "Fucking Gilbert must've messed around with my name tag again, the albino German bastard!"

"Hahaha! That's hilarious!" the boy called Alfred laughed as Arthur seethed in silent rage. "Well, see ya later, Hotpants!" he said cheerfully, turning to leave.

"DO NOT CALL ME THAT!" Arthur shouted at the American's back.

"Whatever you say, Iggy!" he replied, winking as he pulled open the door.

"IT'S ARTHUR, YOU INFERNAL BLOODY TWIT!" Arthur roared, until he realized that the git had already left and that he was yelling at an empty store.

"Bollocks…" Arthur muttered hotly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Thank god it was practically closing time; Arthur didn't know how much more of this day he could stand. That bloody college brat had really gotten to him…

Still fuming, Arthur went to the back office to grab the keys to close the store with. Flicking the light switch, Arthur shouted in fright as a loud THUD sounded from the back of the room:

"EYAHHH!"

"Umph! … ow…" A brown-haired head poked out from underneath the office's desk; a pair of blue-green eyes blinked, bleary with sleep and confusion.

Clutching his chest, Arthur tried to process the scene before him, before it clicked:

"…_Heracles?"_ he asked at last, catching his breath.

"Oh… hey Arthur" The brown-haired man yawned, rubbing his head as he groggily emerged from his hideaway. "Sorry, must've dozed off…"

"You… you were here? _The whole bloody fucking time_?" Arthur growled, his fear quickly dissipating back into anger. The taller man only nodded; a small, sleepy grin still present on his lips. "Mhm..."

"…I didn't miss anything, did I?"

**~(o)~**

* * *

**A/N:** I had fun making up their costumes, (can you guess why Japan was dressed as a cat? ;D) And don't worry Poland, I'd be mad too if I couldn't get my Lady Gaga fix!

**UP NEXT:** Arthur heads to the bar, and we meet a few new characters...


	3. Chapter 2: At the Bar

**Chapter Two:** At the Bar

After locking up the store, (chucking out a certain Greek good-for-nothing in the process), Arthur realized he'd developed a very keen urge to get as drunk as humanly possible, and fast.

The bar he eventually settled upon had a reputation for being loud, dark, and crowded, and that was the way Arthur preferred it. All the easier to get lost in the shuffle. He always strived to keep his occasional drunken binges as anonymous as possible; many of his acquaintances were rather… boisterous, and the lesser the chance of running into any of them, the better.

This was Arthur's plan, and it did work for a while. That is, until –

"_Oh ho ho!_ Look at what we have here!"

_Bollocks._ Arthur would know that laugh anywhere…

"Is it? It is! Arthur, _mon cher_!" Fucking Francis. How in the hell did his bloody French roommate always know exactly where to find him?

Arthur refused to look up from his drink, even as he felt the Frenchman drop casually onto the barstool beside him.

"And what has brought _you_ out on the town this lovely evening, _mon ami_?" Arthur felt an arm slide around his shoulders. He shrugged it off immediately.

"Piss off, Frog. I'd like to get plastered in peace, if you don't mind!" Arthur spat, slurring his words just a tad. He'd only been there for an hour, and already he was well into his fifth rum and tonic.

"Ohhh, but I do mind, you see" the Frenchman replied, his blue eyes twinkling under the bar lights. "As your roommate and elder, I feel it is my duty to, how you say, supervise? Make sure you are not taken advantage of, _non_?" A strand of long, blond hair fell into the Frenchman's eyes. Arthur was sure he'd let it happen on purpose.

"Pssssh" he returned scathingly. "You're the _last_ person I'd trust for that sort of protection! And I can take care of myself, as I think you should bloody well know by now!"

"Hush now, _cheri_." Francis cooed, putting a finger to Arthur's lips. "No need to make a scene-"

"_Scene?_" Arthur yelled, smacking the hand away from his face. "I came here to AVOID a scene, you bloody French perv-!"

"Hey dorks!" Arthur and Francis both turned their heads to find a pale, white-haired man staring at them amusedly. Beside him was a darker-skinned man, with wavy brown hair and green eyes.

"Ahh, Gilbert and Toni! What a pleasant coincidence!" Francis replied cheerfully. Arthur had quite a different reaction; he turned back to the bar and with a growl of frustration let his head drop unceremoniously onto the counter top. This night was not going at all like he'd hoped…

"Soooo, Kirkland…" said Gilbert, slipping into the seat on Arthur's other side. "That was one hell of a fight last night, huh? Freaking Danish dude didn't even know what hit him! 'Course, if it'd been me up there, it would have been even more awesome-"

"Huh, that's funny," said Arthur as he signaled the bartender for another. "I seem to recall taking _your_ albino arse down not two weeks ago" He turned to the other man, waiting for his reaction, but Gilbert only stretched and grinned that asinine grin of his.

"Eh, I let you have that one. Didn't want to upset England the Golden Boy's perfect record"

"Stuff it, Beilschmidt" Arthur warned. "I'm not anyone's golden boy. Just because I've never lost a fight-"

"Oh please, Arthur," Antonio piped up from Gil's other side, "We all know your Ivan's favorite. You might as well be his lapdog!"

Arthur ignored the sudden shiver that went down his spine and turned to the Spanish man, shooting him his best death glare. "Don't you have a bitchy Italian to be tending to?"

"Who, Lovi?" Antonio asked, smiling obliviously. "He's down at the restaurant still. Speaking of which, Gil, did you hear?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah" Gilbert grumbled, signaling the bartender for his own drink "Heard all about it, Toni. I'm his freaking brother after all."

"Heard what?" Arthur asked, despite himself.

"Ludwig and little Feli," answered Francis. "They have gotten engaged, _non_? Ahh, sweet _l 'amour_…" he breathed, taking a deep sip from the wine glass he had obtained.

"Oh" said Arthur, and downed the rest of his own drink, wishing more than ever to just be alone.

"_Si, todo es muy loco_." Antonio said, resting his head on his hands dreamily. "Makes me wonder if me and Lovi will ever-"

"-Okay, Toni, no offense, but I think it's high time we talked about something else…" Gilbert interrupted gruffly from behind his beer glass. "…Like, anything else. Really."

Arthur couldn't help feeling a wave of gratitude for the German prat's presence. He was starting to feel a bit sick, and it wasn't because of the alcohol. Not yet, anyway.

The Spanish man shrugged it off. "Ahh, Gil. You're just jealous…"

"_Oui_, _je conviens_" Francis chimed in and the three uninvited comrades began a rousing session of bickering. Arthur tried to drown the rest of the conversation out with another rum and tonic. His world started to get fuzzy, and he felt his attention slip away, drifting instead (for some unknown reason) to that college brat from before…

…_Alfred, his name was_

…_Alfred…_

"YO, EARTH TO CAPTAIN KIRK!" the sharp pain of Gilbert screaming in his ear brought Arthur sharply back to reality.

"Christ! Wha'in t'bloody 'ell sh'wrong wish'oo?" Arthur asked angrily, though he couldn't quite make his tongue form the words correctly.

"Didn't you hear what Toni just said?" The albino man asked, a bit more serious than Arthur might have expected. He shook his head, not trusting himself to try and speak again.

Gilbert leaned back to reveal a slightly-less-jovial Antonio. "Just got a text from Toris. Ivan's got another fight for you. Next weekend"

"Already?" Arthur sputtered, willing away the dizzy spell that almost overtook him. "-b-but what about you lot? Ivan hasn't given either of you a fight in ages. Why am I always the one?" This time the shiver took its full course; Arthur hoped the others would think it was just because he was drunk.

"Like we said, buddy…" Gilbert said, clapping Arthur on the back. Arthur tried hard to ignore the grave tone the albino's voice had taken:

"You're his favorite."

**~(o)~**

* * *

**A/N:** I can never resist pairing The Bad Touch Trio with Arthur, it's just too much fun! Some translations for you:

_-"Si, todo es muy loco " = "_Yes, it's all very crazy_"_

_-"je conviens" = _"I agree"

I think you can figure out the rest :D

**UP NEXT:** more USUK fluff! Hooray!


	4. Chapter 3: Reeducation

**Chapter Three:** Reeducation

Arthur suspected that this was quite possibly the worst hangover in the history of time. Why again had he thought that going out the night before he had to work a double shift was a good idea? Last night was now nothing but a vague blur, and, to top it all off, he'd had this absolutely insane dream about Francis and some sort of… _waiter outfit._ Ugh.

On the plus side, business was looking to be just as dead as yesterday. Almost too dead, in fact. Arthur was getting a bit antsy just sitting there with nothing to concentrate on but his headache. He turned to Elizabeta, who was sitting beside him, thoroughly engaged in some sort of Japanese comic book:

"I think I'll go get some stocking done, Liz. Shout if you need me?"

"Mmhm" The Hungarian girl nodded her consent without lifting her eyes off the page – what exactly about that little comic was so captivating, Arthur couldn't begin to guess.

Stretching, rubbing absently at the rather significant bruise on his upper arm (an unfortunate repercussion of the fight two nights prior), he went to the far side of the store and commenced putting away the new shipment they'd received that morning, but quickly got bored and decided to dust instead. Well, if he didn't, no one else would!

Fetching a feather duster and an apron so as not to dirty his clothes, Arthur got to work. He heard the tinkling of the bell signaling a customer's presence behind him, but he paid no mind. Liz would handle them, whoever they were…

Within minutes, Arthur managed to immerse himself into his self-prescribed chore. Blimey, he hadn't realized just how dusty a record shop could get! He worked himself into the back corner, climbing up on the counter to reach the cobwebs that clung to the ceiling. He was straining his reach, trying to get at a particularly stubborn one when suddenly:

"_AH-HA_! There you are!"

"**WHAAH!**" Arthur was so startled he nearly fell off the counter, and was forced to grab the cd rack below him for balance. But even in his surprised state, he'd kept enough wits about him to realize how very _familiar_ that voice sounded. He was almost afraid to look.

But he did. And, sure enough, there _he_ was: that Indiana Jones git from before. Only this time he was dressed in more normal attire: a maroon BC sweatshirt, jeans, and a brown leather bomber jacket which appeared vintage and very well-worn. Arthur was once again struck with the absurd notion that the outfit suited the boy to a tee – as if Arthur had any way of knowing that.

"Jeez Iggs, I was looking all over the store for you! Dude, are you seriously _dusting_?-"

"What in the bloody hell are _you_ doing back here?" Arthur demanded as he carefully lowered himself back onto the floor. _"... And stop calling me that infernal nickname!"_ he added as soon as the concerning detail registered.

"Hahaha! Sweet apron!" the boy laughed, completely ignoring him. "Hey, I think my grandma has one like that!-"

"Answer the question, git." Arthur snarled, trying exceptionally hard not to lose his temper. The brat paid no mind to his frustration, cocked a playful eyebrow instead:

"Oh, come on! You don't remember?" he asked.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about" Arthur returned icily. And truthfully, he was struggling to remember the events of the day prior. _That's it,_ he thought. _I'm swearing off rum for bloody good this time._

The boy rolled his eyes in mock-exasperation. "You didn't think I would know how to appreciate your so-called "real music", remember?" he explained obnoxiously, finger-quotes and all. "…Well, I'm here to prove myself. So lay it on me, Artie!"

"It's _Arthur_," Arthur corrected through his teeth. "And I haven't got time for your stupidity right now. I happen to be extremely busy-"

"Not too busy to dust though," the git grumbled, pouting.

"I'll have you know that dusting is a very important and highly overlooked chore, and what's more- "

"Oh, c'mon Iggy-"

**"**_ARTHUR!"_

"Whatever," the boy returned, shrugging off Arthur's mounting frustration. "You and I both know that's just a load of bull. You're just making up excuses because you don't want to get proved wrong by a college kid like me…" the pout was back on the boy's face, and God be damned if it wasn't working on Arthur just the slightest bit.

"It's "be proven" not "get proved", git! How did you even get into university with grammar that atrocious?" Arthur threw back scathingly as a last resort to get rid of the boy, but there was no defense against that bloody unyielding pout.

" …Arrgh! Fine! Have it your way, prat!" Arthur finally conceded, throwing his hands up in the air. Grumbling, he removed his apron and directed the annoying American over to a combination record/cd player on the other side of the store, which was available for guests to preview their purchases.

"Here," Arthur growled, shoving a beat up pair of headphones into the git's arms. "I'll show you what quality music is…" he muttered, fishing through albums in pursuit of one that would suit his needs. In actuality, Arthur had no intention of showing the boy (Alfred, he remembered suddenly) any of his _own_ music. He remained firmly convinced that this was all an obnoxious ploy to test his nerves, and he refused to play into it. Or rather, he would play into it _his own way_, and prove to Alfred (and himself) that the boy was, in fact, completely tasteless when it came to music.

At last, he settled on one: an over-the-top cheezrock cover band. Truly horrid. Arthur fed the disk into the machine and pressed the play button, fully expecting a "hell yeah!" or some other abhorrent sign of esteem from the git. Instead, as the first track continued to play out, Arthur watched a dark cloud pass over the boy's face. He furrowed his eyebrows in an expression more contemplative than Arthur would have ever given him credit for. Arthur waited, looking for any indication of approval or disapproval, but the brat's reaction continued to remain determinedly ambiguous.

Finally, Arthur's impatience won out, and he slammed the stop button with a bit more force than he intended. "So?" he asked as the git pulled off the headphones. "What did you think?"

The boy seemed reluctant to answer, scratching the back of his head as though stalling for time. "No offense, Iggy…" he began finally "…but, uhhh… that kinda sucked. You really listen to that?"

"Of course not, tosser!" Arthur snapped, offended, and ripped the cd from the player. "I only played that album to prove that you'd enjoy any sort of rubbish as long as it had a bloody guitar solo!" he said, stuffing the disk back into its case.

"Well, I guess your plan failed then, huh?" the boy replied, the devious glint in his eyes returning full force.

"_Apparently,_" Arthur growled, narrowing his own eyes in return.

"Well, don't leave me hanging, dude! Make with the goods!" the boy commanded, leaning back casually against the cd racks. Arthur tensed, fighting hard to hold back his building rage.

"Oh, right away Your Excellency!" he all but spat. _So the brat wanted to play hardball, eh?_ Well, that last one was too easy anyway. Best go with something more subtle…

Once more, he sifted through stacks of albums, finally coming upon something suitable. A band obscure enough to be discreet, with songs that were catchy, but with no real talent or potency backing them up. All in all, the perfect trap.

"Here you go, then" Arthur said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. The boy grinned, donned his headphones for a second time, and began bopping his head as the first track began. Arthur smirked in triumph, certain that he'd won this maddening battle for good this time, but then the boy stopped nodding to the beat. His smile faded and was slowly replaced by an expression of surmounting boredom.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Arthur demanded, slamming the stop button once more. The boy frowned sheepishly as he removed his headphones: "I dunno. I mean it was _okay_… I guess I was just expecting something a little more substantial, you know?"

Arthur blinked, thrown off by the boy's surprising perceptiveness. "...Erm, well, to be quite honest," he mumbled, blushing despite himself, "that wasn't really something I listen to either. I was just trying to prove my point, you see."

The boy's eyes flashed with anger and hurt. "…Oh, I get it. You were tricking me again" he said quietly, his voice laced with dejection.

"Well..." he continued, adopting an air of bitter, forced nonchalance. "...Can't really prove myself if I'm not even given a chance. Guess I'll see you around, Iggy." He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jackets and turned away, heading back toward the front of the store.

Arthur felt the weight of guilt crash over him; he wasn't sure exactly what had happened to shift the tone of their interaction so drastically, but the hurt in the boy's eyes was genuine, and pierced Arthur in a way he hadn't thought possible.

"Wait!" Arthur called, desperate to redeem himself, scrambling to find an album he actually did enjoy.

"…Erm…here." he said at last, holding the chosen album (by one of his most favorite bands) out for Alfred to see. "I'm not tricking you this time, honestly!" he added as the boy shot him a suspicious glare. Arthur waited, furious with himself for how guilty he felt, as the boy made up his mind.

Finally, Alfred made his way back to Arthur. He shot another glance at the album before returning his gaze to Arthur. "You promise?" he asked, wariness still lingering in his expression. Arthur nodded, cheeks burning with shame and humility, thoroughly baffled by this strange power the boy seemed to have over him.

"Okay" the boy agreed at last, and took back the headphones. With slightly shaky hands, Arthur placed the disk in its slot and hit 'play'. He watched apprehensively for Alfred's reaction, wondering why the boy's opinion suddenly mattered so much to him.

After they were about halfway into the second track, the boy's distrustful frown melted quite suddenly into an easy smile. "Hey now, this isn't half-bad!" he remarked, giving Arthur a cheerful thumbs up.

Arthur blinked, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding:

"You mean… you like it?" he asked, feeling a bit deflated.

"Yeah, I really do, actually!" the boy said, sounding a bit surprised himself. "It's like really complex and layered, but also sort of, I dunno… gritty."

"Yes, yes" agreed Arthur, a bit breathlessly. "That's it _exactly._"

"Oh man, I am_ so_ digging this sweet bluesy riff that is happening right now," Alfred remarked excitedly as the next track began to play.

"Is that so?" Arthur replied, smiling even though he'd apparently lost the challenge. "You'd probably like their third album then. Lovely heavy sound to that one. Here, just let me find it…"

* * *

…"_Wow._ Sweet Holy Moses that was intense! Man that second to last song gave me shivers-"

"I know, right? Damn fine climax, and I'll be buggered if that last track isn't a right perfect afterglow-"

"And like, the whole flippin' story with the girl and those robots? I mean how did the singer guy even come with that?"

"Heh, in no way that's legal, I'm sure"…

Leaned up against the record player, arms wrapped around his knees, Arthur was overcome with a remarkable feeling of contentedness. Though he was reluctant to admit it, he had completely misjudged Alfred's ability to appreciate and analyze good music. It seemed the boy could be quite observant when he wanted to be, pointing out subtleties that even Arthur hadn't noticed before. In all honesty, it felt wonderfully refreshing; being able to share and discuss his music with someone who seemed just as genuinely passionate as he himself was, especially considering how protective he usually was with personal affairs and interests. He had to be, what with the club and everything. What with _Ivan_…

"Ahhh," Alfred sighed as Arthur shook himself back to reality. "Soooo. much. awesome." The boy curled himself down lower and leaned his head back, eyes closed, dreamy grin of satisfaction playing across his face. Arthur looked on quietly, which the boy must've sensed because not a second later his eyes opened once more. He looked up, meeting Arthur's gaze:

"Hey, we've been here for a while, huh?" the boy remarked rather groggily, as though waking up from a dream.

"Mm," Arthur agreed, feeling a bit flustered, and checked the time on his cell phone. He wasn't sure just how exactly it had happened, but somehow he and Alfred had wound up sitting in the back of the store listening to album after album for three straight hours. _And yet_, he admitted to himself, _he didn't really want to stop…_

"...er, why, do you have to be somewhere?" he asked reluctantly.

"Well, not really," the boy grinned. "but aren't you, um, working or something?"

"Bah, Liz would've found me by now if she needed my help," Arthur returned easily. "Besides, this is more important. A reeducation of sorts."

"I still like Journey, you know," the boy replied with a playful smirk.

"Oh?" Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows, "Well then I guess we've got some more work to do" He reached over to retrieve another cd from the shelf above, but his sleeve caught on the corner and was dragged up to his shoulder as a result.

"Whoa, Artie!" Alfred exclaimed when he saw the bruise that the sleeve had been covering. "What happened to your arm?" The concern in the boy's voice was enough to make Arthur blush all over again.

"It's nothing," he insisted "Must've bumped it moving some boxes around." He tried to tug the sleeve back down to its proper place, but Alfred stopped him, grabbing his arm in order to examine the bruise more thoroughly:

"That's one hell of a bump" the boy said softly, grazing gently over the bruise with his thumb. Arthur tried desperately to initiate a typical reaction of fury, but the icy hot shiver that went coursing suddenly down his spine left him a bit speechless...

There was a beat of silence before Alfred realized what he was doing "…Oh! Sorry!" he exclaimed, releasing Arthur's arm abruptly, cheeks flushing a bright red. Arthur could feel heat behind his own cheeks as well; he felt a bit shaky and unnerved, wanting and yet dreading to look into the boy's blue eyes…

"Yeah, so… I do kind of have to get going actually" Alfred said at last, looking determinedly at the ground. "Got a big chem exam to study for…" The boy finally looked up, and Arthur was relieved to find that he could meet the boy's gaze without further anxiety.

"Y-yes, of course" he mumbled, staggering up to his feet as Alfred did the same.

"Hey… so ummm-" the boy started after another awkward pause. "…this was pretty awesome. I feel like my mind exploded at least three or four times."

"Hahaha… Right," Arthur returned. _Christ!_ Why couldn't he manage to reply with words that contained more than one bloody syllable?

"Hey! I just thought of something!" Alfred said as he pulled his bomber jacket back on. "I have to do this article for the school newspaper for one of my classes, and I was just thinking – it'd be really cool to do a music review or something, and well, since you like, know all about it an' stuff…well, maybe you could help me with it? Expert opinion and all?"

"Well, I'm not sure I'd say "expert", but… yes, I suppose I could do that…" Arthur replied, concentrating very hard on keeping his voice steady.

"Really? Sick!" the boy exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air. "Oh man I am so pumped! Will you be here tomorrow?"

"I'll be here till four" Arthur replied, unable to keep a small smile from his face.

"Kickin'! Well, I'll see you tomorrow then, okay Iggs?" Alfred smirked slyly, and turned to leave. Arthur felt his happiness morph quite abruptly into annoyance.

"For the last bloody time, my name is Arthur!" he growled, but the boy paid no heed, and was out the door before Arthur could say anything more on the subject.

"ARRGH!" Irritated, but also feeling sort of lightheaded, Arthur paused for a moment, mulling in his own thoughts. But he was pulled out of them abruptly when a high-pitched, _squee_ sort of sound echoed from behind the nearest cd shelf.

Peering over the rows of cds, Arthur was met with a rather peculiar sight: his co-worker Elizabeta, crouched down, frantically stuffing what appeared to be a digital camera behind her back…

"Liz? Um, don't mind my asking, but what are doing down ther-"

"Oh! Hello Arthur!" the Hungarian girl interrupted loudly, a bit crazy-eyed. "Nothing! I fell! I mean… I was doing inventory! Making sure nobody's stealing, you know!"

"Erm, I didn't know we did inventory... Is that a camera you hav-"

"_What_? Arthur, don't be silly! Why ever would I have a camera down here? I'm doing inventory, that's all! I mean, just what kind of girl do you think I am? Honestly, I'm a bit offended!"

And with that, she rose, and, still shuffling that mysterious object between her hands, made a hasty retreat to the back office, slamming the door behind her.

"That girl is right barmy," Arthur muttered to himself, and, thoroughly baffled, headed back toward the counter to wait out the rest of his shift.

**~(o)~**

* * *

**A/N:** Ohh, Elizabeta, you silly rotten girl! This chapter went through some pretty heavy edits, but I think I'm finally satisfied with it :)

**UP NEXT:** Arthur's life catches up with him a bit... (Also: a certain Frenchman makes a reappearance!) Stay tuned!


	5. Chapter 4: Brother

**Chapter Four:** Brother

Over the next few days, Arthur found himself becoming increasingly accustomed to Alfred's daily visits (or "research sessions", as the boy called them). In fact, if he was truly honest with himself, he was actually beginning to look forward to them. Not only was it nice to have an excuse to listen to his music at work, but it seemed Arthur was also developing a rather keen interest in getting to know as much as he could about his accidental listening companion.

He was subtle about it, of course; picking up little things here and there. He learned, for instance, that the boy's full name was Alfred F. Jones ("F for 'freaking awesome!'"), and that he had a twin brother Matthew who was attending a college in Canada for environmental conservation ("dude loves trees more than breathing I think"). He learned that Alfred himself was a pre-med student of all things, that he was nineteen years old, a sophomore, and was high honors – almost top of his class.

He noticed other things as well – things left unspoken, such as the boy's inexplicably voracious appetite for fast food, the one untamable lock of hair that always seemed to stick straight up, the way the boy constantly needed to fidget or move, even if it was just a foot jiggling back and forth, the bomber jacket that seemed to function as a second skin ("My great-grandpa's. He was a fighter pilot in WWII!")…

It was these tidbits of trivia, along with the curiosity as to what else there might be left to discover, that Arthur occupied himself with that Thursday as he stared out the kitchen window, sipping a cup of tea. He was beginning to find that the more he learned about Alfred, the more the boy seemed to occupy his thoughts, even outside of work. He was quite sure it was only because he hadn't gotten to know anyone new in a while, and was starved for a fresh acquaintance, but still-

"_Bon matin, mon cher!"_ Arthur snapped out of his internal musings to find who other than that bloody cad Francis busying himself with the French press, dressed in nothing but a silk bathrobe.

"I think you mean 'good afternoon', prat" Arthur returned grumpily, put off by the disturbance of his privacy.

"A man needs his beauty rest, non?" the Frenchman replied as he dropped into the seat across from Arthur, homemade cappuccino in hand. "And now that we are on the subject…" Francis smiled coyly after taking a sip from his cup. "…tell me, my friend, is she _très jolie_?"

Arthur blinked in confusion.

"Pardon?"

The Frenchman's smile grew wider. "Oh, come now, Arthur! Do not play games with me! Tell me who she is. I am, how you say, dying over here!"

"I haven't the foggiest what you're on about, Frog," Arthur shot back, raising his cup to his lips indifferently. Nonetheless, he could feel the blush spreading down now to the nape of his neck...

"The _girl_, but of course!" the Frenchman exclaimed, tossing his hair flamboyantly. "The girl who has so fully succeeded in _capturing your fancy_!"

Arthur nearly spat out the sip of tea he'd taken – he choked on it instead. "Ah, it is no use arguing, _cheri_-" Francis silenced, as Arthur finally gathered himself enough to protest. "The French can always tell."

"There is no. bloody._ girl." _Arthur growled, still coughing from the tea. "And you'd do well to shut your Frog trap this instant or else-"

"Ah-ha! So it is a boy then! About time, _mon cher_! Let's see… how long has it been since you confessed to me-"

"You have until the _count of three_ to get your snail-eating arse good and lost before I string you up by that_ sodding bathrobe_ of yours," Arthur interrupted venomously.

"Mm Arthur, how _kinky_ of you-"

**"OUT! BLOODY **_**OUT**_**!"**

The Frenchman didn't need to be told twice. He disappeared back into his room, laughing airily as Arthur just about popped a vein in a fit of incoherent rage.

The Briton continued to fume silently, sucking his tea in thin, vicious sips. Honestly, that bloody ingrate Francis didn't have a clue what he was talking about. Just because Arthur happened to think about Alfred every now and then didn't mean the boy had "captured his fancy"! Quite the opposite in fact! The boy was still obnoxious and insufferable, and altogether too juvenile to even think about that sort of thing, even if he _did_ happen to be interested, which he wasn't!

Not that Alfred wasn't_ attractive_ or anything. Of course he was. Too bloody attractive for his own good, probably, with that sodding smile of his, and those eyes… But no_. No._ The lad was just too young, or too straight at least, and anyway, the last thing Arthur needed right now was a bloody fling or something of the sort. He had too much in his life to juggle already.

Speaking of which, he should probably give Peter a call. He'd been putting it off for a while now, and he knew the boy would hold it against him...

_Ah well, best get on with it, then._ Steeling himself, Arthur drained the last of his tea and, pulling his cell phone from his pocket, dialed the number of the academy:

After a few rings, a young girl's voice answered: "Hello, you've reached Hetalia Academy. This is Lily Zwingli speaking, how may I help you?

"Oh, hello Lily, this is Arthur Kirkland. Is erm... your brother available, perchance?"

"Oh! Hello Mr. Kirkland! No, I'm sorry – he's out running some errands. Did you want to talk to Peter?

"I was hoping to. Do you know where he is?"

"Yes, he's right here beside me actually!" The girl's voice became muffled as she took the phone away from her mouth: "_Peter, your brother's on the phone… oh, come on, I'm sure he's not _that_ bad… well, do it for me then..._" Arthur rubbed his temples wearily; this was not sounding promising.

Finally, the phone was picked up again:

"What do _you_ want, Jerkface?" Arthur rolled his eyes at the not-atypical greeting.

"Sorry to trouble you, Peter," he replied coolly. "I know it must be a real bother, having to talk to your only brother-"

"My only brother who loves me so much he stuck me in dumbass boarding school..."

"Hey! Mind your language, young man!" Arthur scolded, forgetting his cool temperament.

"What're you gonna do about it? _Ground me_?" The sneered reply was full of the sort of defiance only a twelve-year-old boy could muster. Arthur sighed, swallowing the frustration that was already mounting inside him.

"Why can't we just have a pleasant conversation for once?"

"Maybe we could if you weren't such a big, fat jerkface jerkhead!"

"ARGH!" Arthur let out a growl of impatience. This was going bloody nowhere, as always! Still, he knew he needed to keep his head, for both their sakes.

Grudgingly, he took a deep breath, gathered himself, and tried again: "…Look, let's start over, alright? How are you doing in school?"

"School's for losers. I'd rather eat a million turds than let some crappy-ass teacher tell me what to do!" _Wonderful_, Arthur thought to himself. _Glad we're on the right track now._

"...I got a call from Headmaster Zwingli the other day. He says you've been causing trouble"

"Psh. What does he know?"

"He said you put worms in the teacher's coffee pot"

"He can't prove that was me!-"

"Peter," Arthur interrupted crossly. "If you don't behave they'll kick you out, and here I am putting in everything I've got just so you can stay there in the first place!"

"So what if I get kicked out?" the boy shot back "Why can't I just live with you?"

"We've been through this before Peter," Arthur lectured. "You need to stay in school so you can get into a decent college and make a future for yourself-"

"-Sez the high school dropout..."

"Now listen here, _boy!_" Arthur snapped, finally reaching his breaking point. "You've absolutely _no right_-"

"-You're not my dad Arthur, _okay_?" cried the boy suddenly. "You're not! You're just my stupid big brother!" The heavy breathing that followed, spiked with soft, wet hiccups, told Arthur that the boy had been pushed to tears. Arthur feeling close to them himself.

"…I know that, Peter. I'm sorry." he said at last, shakily. "I know you think this is unfair, but it's for your own good, I promise-" He checked his watch, realizing he would very shortly be running late for work. "- Listen, I've got to go, but I'll visit you sometime next week, alright?"

"…Whatever" Arthur detected from within the grudging response just the slightest shadow of forgiveness.

"Good," he replied, relieved. "In the meantime, please _try_ to behave?" His question was met with a sound that fell somewhere between a groan and a grunt.

"Right, well… Goodbye then, Peter," Arthur said, reluctant to let the boy go just yet.

"Bye, Jerkface," was the mumbled response, followed by a small _click_ as the other line went dead. Snapping his own cell phone shut, Arthur let a tired groan escape his lips and rested his head in his hands. It suddenly felt so much heavier than before...

**~(o)~**

* * *

**A/N:** Aw... ;A; Thank goodness for France, or this chapter might've approached dangerously angsty levels!

Translations _pour vous_:

_Bon matin_ = good morning

_très_ _jolie_ = very pretty

**UP NEXT:** A significant moment, a new face, and some good ol' slapstick violence!


	6. Chapter 5: Split Decision

**Chapter Five:** Split Decision

"Sooooo, whaddya think?" Arthur looked up from the sheet of paper in his hands to find maddeningly blue eyes staring down at him expectantly.

"Well," Arthur managed to reply at last, "your grammar is horrendous-"

"Ahhh, the editor'll fix that," Alfred shrugged, swinging his legs from his perch on the back counter, mouth stained from the giant, multi-colored Chill Zone he was slurping. "No biggie!"

Arthur grunted his annoyance at the boy's flippancy. "_Otherwise…_" he continued emphatically. "…It's not bad. Quite good in fact"

"Really? You mean it?" Alfred asked, eyes widening with childlike surprise.

"I wouldn't say so if I didn't, dolt," Arthur returned, with significantly less bite than he'd hoped for.

"Haha, awesome!" Alfred whooped happily, triumphant smile plastered across his face. Arthur couldn't help smiling as well; the boy's enthusiasm was bloody _contagious_...

"Yes, yes. That's all well and good-" a snobbish voice sounded from behind them. Arthur turned to find his boss, Roderich Edelstein, tapping his foot, looking even more disdainful than usual.

"…Now, if you don't mind, _sir_-" the bespectacled manager continued, training his glare directly at Alfred, "Arthur happens to be _working_-_"_

"Oh shut up, Roddy," interrupted Elizabeta, appearing alongside him. "For goodness sakes, there's no one even here!"

"Be that as it may, Eliza," Roderich huffed back. "We should still be keeping ourselves available to any potential _paying _customers that may arrive." He shot another pointed look in Alfred's direction, for measure. However, Elizabeta was not one to step down from a disagreement:

"There you go with money again!" she shouted, throwing her hands in the air. "Honestly! Can't you see there are _larger things at work here?"_ She stomped off irritably into the classical section. Roderich followed, and the two continued to bicker heatedly amongst themselves as they began to stock yet _another_ collection of Shubert compositions which Roderich had apparently found it necessary to order.

Alfred shot Arthur an amused side look:

"Jeez Louise, are they married or what?" he whispered, grinning.

"Might as well be," Arthur muttered back, returning the grin. The boy's widened into a full-blown smile, and Arthur tried very hard to contain the blush he felt breaking its way through. _Breathe, Arthur. Bloody breathe…_

"Welp, gotta go get this to the printers!" the boy remarked suddenly, pushing himself off the counter and stuffing the article in his backpack. "…I just wanted to show you before it got published, since, you know, I couldn't have done it without you n'stuff…"

"Right, er… thanks" Arthur replied, hoping the butterflies he suddenly felt fluttering in his stomach weren't betrayed at all by his face. Strangely enough, the boy seemed to be blushing a bit as well…

"Yeah, well" Alfred began, chewing on his bottom lip. "I guess… see you around then, Artie." The boy shouldered his backpack and turned to leave. It occurred to Arthur that, now that the Alfred's article was finished, there was really no need for the boy to come back. This could very well be the last time Arthur would ever see him…

_Well, what of it? He's just another sodding university brat after all. You've got more important things to worry about than this. You'll go on your way, and he'll go on his and that's all there bloody is to it! Don't worry about it. Don't even turn a bloody cheek-"_

"_Wait!_" Arthur called out suddenly, inexplicably, just as Alfred reached the door.

"-I, er… well-" Arthur looked around frantically for something, anything that would save him. A brightly colored flyer on the wall reminded him of a concert playing the following night at his favorite venue…

_That'll do._

"-You see, there's, um, this show tomorrow night…" Arthur explained as he ripped the flyer from the wall and held it out to the boy, "…_Ilmater's Son_. Scandinavian band, but still quite good. I…" he gathered his courage and pressed on:

"…I think you'd enjoy them."

_What in the bloody hell are you doing?_ Arthur asked himself as the boy came forward to inspect the flyer. He didn't rightly know; all he knew was that he couldn't let the boy leave, not without trying… _Trying? Trying for what exactly?_ his brain questioned frantically, but Arthur was too busy awaiting Alfred's response to provide any sort of adequate reply.

Alfred scrutinized the flyer with an unexpected intensity. "Are _you_ going?" he asked at last, looking up from the page. Arthur rolled his eyes, his anxiety replaced temporarily with annoyance:

"Of course I'm going you git!"

"Then I'll be there!" the boy replied brightly. Arthur just barely managed to stop himself from emitting a sigh of relief.

"Right. Good." The strange, fluttering feeling was back again. Really now, the git wasn't _that_ enthralling, was he?

"Okay, well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow night then, Artie!" Alfred replied, flashing Arthur one last eye-blinding smile. He waved, backing his way excitedly to the door, before promptly crashing into a customer who just happened to be entering the shop at the time:

"Woah! Whoops, sorry dude!" Alfred exclaimed, before heading hurriedly out the door.

"Hey, no sweat kid!" a familiar, German-accented voice replied. Arthur groaned as he realized that the customer Alfred had bumped into was not actually a customer at all, but rather that bloody albino wanker, Gilbert.

"Well, well, well!" the said-wanker began loudly, after watching Alfred sprint off into the city evening. "So Kirkland, is that the new BF? Kind of young for you, don't cha think?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Arthur scoffed, feeling heat rising to his face already. "I was only helping him with a school project, and _why am I even bothering to explain this to you?" _

"Project, eh?" The albino man teased as he came forward into the store. "Sounded to me like you just asked him on a date-"

"It is NOT a DATE!" Arthur spat hotly, "And if you insinuate anything else, _tosser_, they'll have to search for your body _piece by piece!-_"

"Okay, okay! Whatever you say, Captain…" Gilbert chuckled as he boosted himself up to take Alfred's spot on the counter. "Oh, hey Lizziecakes…" he grinned as Elizabeta and Roderich returned to the counter to see what was going on."…Wanna help me with this school project I ha-"

**WHAAM!**

Arthur, Roderich, and Elizabeta all looked down at the now semi-conscious Gilbert lying crumpled at the base of the counter.

"Eliza…" Roderich began, when he finally regained the capacity for speech:

"…Where on Earth did you get that frying pan?"

**~(o)~**

* * *

**A/N:** Ahaah, you know Gil had it coming...

An Explanation for Ilmater's Son: According to Wikipedia, Ilmater is the Finnish goddess of the Earth, and her most famous son, Väinämöinen (wink wink), is one of the major players in _The Kalevala_, a Finnish epic poem of mighty large significance...

Anyway, I thought it'd make a neat band name :D

**UP NEXT: **The concert, where things begin to sizzle!


	7. Chapter 6: The Concert

**Chapter Six:** The Concert

"Right, er… How do I look, then?"

Francis looked up from the television as Arthur emerged from his bedroom dressed in a gray short-sleeve button down layered with a black tee-shirt and tight, dark jeans.

"_Oo la la_!" The Frenchman crowed, sitting up on the couch. "And where are we off to tonight, _cheri_? Perhaps a _rendezvous_ with a certain, nonexistent _garçon_?-"

"None of your bloody beeswax, Frog!" Arthur huffed indignantly as he grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

"Be careful not to have too much fun, _mon cher_!" Francis called after him cheekily. "You do have your big fight tomorrow night after all!"

"Yes. Thank you _so much_ for reminding me," Arthur growled and slammed the door behind him, wondering why he hadn't just saved himself the frustration and climbed down the fire escape instead.

* * *

_Right. Keep it together, old boy. He'll show. And even if he doesn't, who cares? Good riddance to him, the bloody obnoxious brat!_

Arthur had arrived at The Jolly Roger not ten minutes ago, and already he was beginning to work himself up into a frenzy. He had scoured the entire place (very discreetly, mind you!), and had thus far seen neither hide nor hair of Alfred, and the opening band was about to go on any minute! Granted, it wasn't as if Arthur had given the lad any way of contacting him if he did happen to get held up, but still, the boy had just seemed so eager…

Arthur sighed. Alright, maybe he'd better have a drink after all. Just one, to ease his nerves. No harm in that, right? No, of course not!

Decision made, Arthur made his way to the concessions counter, and leaned into the window:

"Hullo, Seline. I'd like a Newcastle, please"

The attendant turned and smiled, brushing an unruly lock of hair out of her tanned face: "Why hello there, Arthur!" she returned coquettishly. "I was wondering if I'd catch you here tonight! It's been a while."

"Mm, I've been rather busy I suppose" Arthur replied, returning the smile. "You look well. Still sporting those bows, I see."

"And I see you're still sporting those eyebrows!" Seline giggled as Arthur shot her a dirty look. "Don't worry," she amended. "They work for you."

Arthur grunted, and looked behind him, scanning the floor once more as the opening band took the stage, trying to keep in check his ever-deflating hope...

"...Is everything alright, Arthur?" Seline asked, handing him the beer. "You seem a little on edge."

"Oh, do I?" Arthur asked as breezily as he could manage, taking a huge swig from the plastic cup. "Probably just nervous about the fight tomorrow…" The girl let out a surprisingly hearty laugh (for her size):

"What's that now? The great, unstoppable England is _nervous_ about a _fight_? Well, now I've heard everything!"

"Oh _hardy har_," Arthur grumbled, knocking back another giant swig. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all…

"Cheer up, Arthur," Seline encouraged. "Look, the band's starting up. Why aren't you out on the floor?" Arthur turned to look around once more for any sign of Alfred before sighing heavily into his cup. Well, that was it then. The boy hadn't shown. Really, why had he expected anything different?

"I dunno, Seline" Arthur sighed, downing the rest of the beer in one gulp. "Suddenly I'm not much in the mood…" He paid for the beer and made his way toward the coat-check counter, fully prepared to ditch the concert altogether and head instead for the closest pub he could find, when he felt a sharp tug on his arm from behind:

"Hey Iggy! _Wait up!_"

Arthur felt the blush rush to his cheeks before he even turned around. There he was: slightly sweaty, dressed in a plaid button down and jeans, beaming at him in that wretchedly irresistible way of his…

_Alfred._

"You're not leaving are you?" the boy asked, catching his breath. "I'm sorry I'm late! I got off at the wrong T stop and had to run like ten or eleven blocks! Hey!-" he looked around the venue, eyes lighting up like he'd just seen Father Christmas. "-This place is wicked awesome! I love the pirate stuff everywhere!"

He walked out onto the floor and was enveloped by the blue concert lights, so that he seemed to be glowing almost. The band started to pick up, and the crowd began to move and cheer around him. It seemed as though the _very night_ was feeding off the energy he exuded. Arthur stared, frozen to the spot, sure that his knees would buckle under him if he tried to move in the slightest.

The boy looked back over his shoulder, flashing Arthur a final, dazzling smile:

"Well, what are you waiting for? Come on!"

* * *

The music was raw, blasting; the sludgy bass-line thrummed its way back and forth through Arthur's bloodstream. He was closer to the stage than he'd been in a long time, and _god did it feel good_. Electric. Something about the lights, the moving bodies around him, the air heavy with sound waves and smoke and sweat... it just felt so charged. So bloody _real_.

Arthur turned his head toward Alfred. The boy's eyes were closed, and the _way_ he was moving – so smooth and careless and just_... free _– Arthur had to turn away to stop himself from staring.

Suddenly, he felt the boy lean in close, breath hot against his neck. _"This is so awesome,"_ he said into Arthur's ear, and Arthur tried very hard to convince himself that the cascade of shivers that coursed down his spine was simply a draft...

"Oh_, holy cats_ that was intense! They wailed so freaking hard!"

Alfred bounced around like a 10-year old as he and Arthur walked out into the brisk November night and made their way toward the T stop. Arthur grinned, feeling rather like a kid himself.

"It was a rather spectacular set, wasn't it?" he agreed.

"Haha, you can say that again! Who's the singer, Tino something? He like completely melted my face off!"

"Yes, and can you believe their drummer's only seventeen?"

"I know! And that crazy Norwegian chanting in the middle of that last one? I thought the dude was summoning a giant troll or something! But seriously…" he stopped and looked up into night sky "…That was just so cool! There's nothing that compares to live music! It just gets in there and makes you feel so alive! Like you could conquer the world, ya know?"

"…I do" Arthur replied quietly, finding his voice at last. Alfred turned toward him, and Arthur found himself staring right up into those cornflower blue eyes, and not for the life of him being able to look away…

He found himself leaning forward...wishing... hoping...

BZZZT!

Arthur's cellphone vibrated loudly against his thigh. Snapping out of a sort of daze, Arthur fished the phone from his pocket, and read the text:

**From: Ivan**

The fight has been rescheduled for tonight. Toris is waiting to pick you up outside of your concert venue. You will meet him promptly, yes?

Received Friday, November 4th 2011 at 10:37PM

"Oh_, bleeding Christ_!" Arthur cursed furiously. just barely managing to keep himself from smashing the wretched electronic into a million pieces. This could not be happening right now! Why? Why couldn't he be allowed just one night to live a normal bloody life? Was it really too much to ask?

"What's wrong?" Alfred asked, concern apparent in his voice. Arthur calmed himself, then turned reluctantly back toward the boy:

"I'm sorry, Alfred-" he sighed, stuffing the phone hastily back into his pocket. "-I've got to go."

"Um, okay..." the boy's shoulders slumped in disappointment. "...Is everything alright?"

"Oh, just sodding _grand_," Arthur snapped, then softened:

"Look, um…" he began, clumsily. "Thank you for… well, I usually go to concerts by myself, and this was… nice."

The boy perked back up, smiling warmly: "Hey, no prob! It was really fun!"

Arthur smiled too, taking a few anxious steps back toward the way they came. "So… I'll see you around, then?" he asked.

"Definitely!" Alfred nodded. "Hey, Iggy-" he called out as Arthur broke out into a hasty jog. "Good luck with… whatever it is you need to do!"

"Thanks..." Arthur muttered, and thought to himself:

_...I may need it_

* * *

**A/N:** Yeah, Finland! Melt those faces!

I really enjoyed writing Seline, (Seychelles, for those who couldn't tell). In my head cannon, she and Arthur had a little fling way back when, but they're on good terms now. Also: The Jolly Roger is owned by Alejandro Diaz (aka: Cuba). I couldn't find anywhere to fit that in...

Notes on Ilmater's Son: Finland = lead vocals plus bass, Iceland = drums, Norway = lead guitar, backup vocals. They play a sort of Scandinavian death metal/pop punk mix. I don't know any good comparisons off the top of my head...

**UP NEXT:** Fight! Fight! Fight!


	8. Chapter 7: The First Fight

**A/N:** Just as fair warning, the language in this chapter is a bit stronger than in those preceding.

Anyway, on we get...

* * *

**Chapter 7:** The First Fight

Arthur found Toris waiting in his beat-up old Gremlin outside the venue.

"Hello Arthur," the Lithuanian man greeted anxiously as Arthur climbed into the passenger seat. "Sorry to be spoiling your evening like this…"

"Oh, come off it," Arthur replied, still catching his breath from his jog over. "It's not your fault. We all know how Ivan is…" Even as the words left his lips, Arthur's stomach gave a nauseous lurch.

"Y-yes…" Toris agreed softly, eyes shifting about as if the Russian was somehow listening to their conversation from the backseat. "The rescheduling caused a lot of problems. Some very high-stakes bidders are coming, and I've been making phone calls left and right…"

Surprisingly, the Lithuanian's strung-out chatter was actually working to calm Arthur down. He began to feel those pre-fight tingles taking over, pumping him up…

His thoughts drifted to Alfred, and the tingles increased tenfold.

"…You feeling okay for this, Arthur?" Toris asked, and Arthur was jostled back to reality.

"Of course," he replied, and it was true. He felt good. Better than he had in a long time.

"Good," Toris said, seeming to calm down a bit himself. Arthur offered up what he hoped was a bracing smile, then caught in the corner of his eye what appeared to be a cd jewel case, haphazardly wedged in down beside the driver seat cushion.

"Um, Toris?" Arthur began skeptically. "That isn't a _Lady Gaga_ album you have there, is it?

"What?" the Lithuanian asked, turning three shades of red. "No, no! Of course not!" He fished the case out of its hiding place and promptly chucked it into the back seat.

Arthur decided to save the man some grief, and turned to the window in amused silence.

* * *

They pulled up to the club's back entrance and scrambled hastily out of the car. An intelligent-looking young man with blond hair and glasses met them at the door with a sigh of relief:

"Oh, thank goodness! Hi, Arthur-" He led them down the dark, narrow staircase toward the club's basement. "-You guys are late! The crowd is getting rowdy, and Ivan was starting to get that _look_-"

"Oh, you mean his 'I'm-going-to-murder-your-family-with-a-pickax' look?" Arthur joked darkly, and was met with two wide-eyed panic-stricken faces turning back at him in return. "Never mind…" he sighed, rolling his eyes:

"…Let's just get on with this."

* * *

The place was like a zoo. It smelled like one anyway. The crowd was ravenous; their shouts coalescing into a thunderous roar that shook the walls and floor like an earthquake. Arthur edged along the perimeter, keeping his distance away from the drunken, colliding mass of bodies, and attempted to scope out his competition. The other fighter was nowhere to be seen. Arthur frowned, then felt a hand clap his shoulder:

"There he is!" Gilbert greeted him loudly, with Antonio trailing closely behind. "You had us worried for a second there; thought Ivan was gonna go on a little death-spree with that goddamn pipe of his! Get a load of this crowd though, huh?" The albino cocked a thumb out toward the chaotic swarm. "Not bad for freaking two hour's notice!"

Arthur followed them, stripping off his shirts as they made their way toward the ring, trying not to think about the fact that he was dressed in his best sodding pair of jeans. Antonio unzipped the small duffel he had been carrying, which contained a towel, water bottle, a pair of black handwraps, and three little jars of grease paint. The Spanish man busied himself with wrapping up Arthur's hands and wrists, while Gilbert opened up the jars of paint:

"Okay, champ, get ready for the best pep-talk you've ever heard…" the albino began excitedly, as he used his thumb to paint a thick, white stripe underneath Arthur's left eye.

"Is this really necessary?" Arthur interrupted, wincing at the slimy feel of the paint on his cheek.

"It's called scare-tactics, British boy!" Gilbert shushed, smearing a streak of red just underneath the white. "Now, here's the lo-down: I was able to sneak a quick peek at the dude you're about to fight, and let me tell you, he is one _big_ motherfucker-"

"How in the hell is this a pep-talk?" Arthur snapped.

"Shut up, it's coming! _Mein Gott_…" the German huffed, moving to Arthur's right side with a stripe of blue. "Now, sure, this bastard's a veritable fucking titan, and you're lucky if you make it on the big kid roller coaster…"

"_You goddamned bleeding sonofa-!"_

"But!-" the albino silenced, pairing the blue stripe with one final streak of white. "-there is one thing you _do_ have that he sure as hell doesn't: a pair of big, brassy, _undefeated_ English balls! _You see that ring?_ That is your fucking _domain_, buster! And if I know you _and I do_, there is no way in fucking _hell _you're going to let some sausage-brained _Arschloch_ take it away from you!"

Well, what do you know? The tosser wasn't so bad at this after all… Arthur could feel adrenaline pumping though his veins – he didn't even complain when the crazy German grasped both of his shoulders and looked him dead-on, insane smile plastered across his pale, wanker-face:

"So, you ready to rock and roll, Captain?" Gilbert asked, his red eyes burning with intensity. Arthur felt the heat of anticipation take over his body, turning his blood thick and bubbly. He felt himself becoming_ England..._

Arthur cracked his knuckles and matched his friend's lunatic grin:

"You bet your bloody _arse_ I am."

* * *

"_Okay everyone! Get ready for the match-up of the century!" _

The crowd was like a tidal wave, throwing its weight around the ring in angry, heavy roars – you could barely hear Katyusha's enthusiastic introductions, despite the girl having a microphone. Arthur tuned out the anarchy that surrounded him and breathed, began to focus his energy...

"…_In one corner, weighing a hefty two hundred sixty-five pounds, a murdering-machine straight out of Sweden…_ _Berwald _"The Ox" _Oxenstiernaaa!"_

Gilbert wasn't joking; the bloke in the other corner _was_ big, and rather menacing as well. He was eerily silent, staring at Arthur with severe green eyes…

"…_And in the other corner, weighing a respectable one hundred forty-seven pounds, our very own undefeated British barbarian… _ENGLAAAAAND!"

The club erupted in raucous cheers. Arthur's gaze flicked to the back of the room, where he saw a pair of violet eyes staring fixedly through the smoky haze. He ignored the goose bumps that cropped up on his shoulders... set his mind toward the task on hand…

"_On my count, gentlemen!"_ The girl shouted, ( her sizable endowments bouncing), as Arthur and the other fighter stepped forward to the center of the ring:

_"...Three… Two… One…_ _**FIGHT!**__"_

The bell rang and Arthur exploded like dynamite into the other man. A quick jab to the ribs followed by a sharp uppercut deep to the stomach – any other man would've been rolling, but the brute took it all with only a grunt.

_Well, now. This is going to be interesting_, Arthur thought as he dodged what would've been a brutal blow to his temple. _Okay, old chap, get your head in there – learn his style, study his form… he's a steady one, doesn't waste his moves… but maybe I can surprise him. _Arthur swerved away from another jaw-shattering punch and swung around, coming back at him from the other side with a vicious left hook:

The Swede let out a dangerous growl, but did not come at him like Arthur hoped. He was going to be a tough egg to crack…

_Alright, Arthur, change of plans… let's tire this wanker out…_ Arthur danced around the other man, throwing out quick jabs designed to antagonize him out of his reserve, but the Swede wasn't taking the bait. Arthur felt his concentration slipping a bit, shifting instead to another pair of eyes, so wide and blue like a Southern sky… looking down at him…smiling…

**CRAKK! **

Arthur felt something incredibly fucking _hard_ smash into his cheek, and suddenly his ears were ringing and he was dripping blood. It took all of his concentration just to stay on his feet, and if not for the ring signaling the end of the first round, Arthur was sure he would've been dead on the spot. He staggered back to his corner and slumped half-consciously against the ropes.

"Jesus, Arthur! Where's your freaking head?" shouted Gil as he stepped into the ring to help clean the Briton up. Arthur felt his brain slowly pulling itself back together; his thoughts were starting to make sense again…

"_Si! Dios Mio_-" Antonio agreed, handing him the water bottle. "I've never seen you take a blow like that before. I thought you were KO'd for sure…" Arthur took a deep sip from the bottle, sneaking quick glance at the far corner, where those violet eyes still stared, boring into him like lasers…

"Keep it together, Captain Kirk!" the German man warned as he toweled the sweat and blood from Arthur's forehead. "I got four hundred smackers laid down on your scrawny, tea-sucking ass! Don't you _dare _make a beggin' man outta me!"

Arthur sucked one last time at the water bottle, swishing the remaining blood from his mouth, before smiling:

"Don't worry, tosser. I've got you bloody covered. Half of that you already owe me anyway"

"Ha! There we go! That's the fuckin' spirit!" Gilbert whooped as he helped Arthur to his feet. "Now, get out there and kick some goddamn Swedish I-KE-ASS!"

_"__All too gladly,__" _Arthur muttered, just in time for the second bell.

* * *

_Alright, old boy, this is it. You've got to bloody powerhouse him._ Arthur looked up at the steel-faced giant of a man before him, and felt nothing but calm. He could do this, he bloody knew he could! All he needed to do was gather up every bit of strength and spit he had and drive it all outward into the poor wretch's sodding face...

He turned his mind once more to those indescribably blue eyes, but this time it was with a purpose. He felt his stomach swell up with that luminescent feeling, let the tingles that rushed through him build up and up until he was just about ready to burst...

**WHAM!** He felt his fist connect with something solid; the Swede stumbled backward a few paces and shook his head dizzily, and all at once Arthur knew he had it in the bag. He smiled, and thought of tousled, wheat-blond hair…

**WHACK! **He thought of warm, sunny laughter…

**CRUNCH!** He thought of the boy's name. The one single word that could sum up all of the boy's warmth, his glow, his utterly maddening brilliance…

_Alfred_, he thought…

_Alfred…_

**WHA-BAM! **With one final blow to the jaw, the Swedish man swayed, then fell to the mat with a mighty THUMP. Arthur stood over the unconscious man, breathing heavily, wondering what in the hell had just bloody happened- when he was quite suddenly tackled by two shouting lunatics:

"Holy Mother of _Scheisse_! Did you see that? Guy went down like a fucking sack of potatoes!"

"Arthur, that was incredible! _Mierda_, it was like you were in some kind of trance-"

"That's my favorite little hiney-kicker! You, my friend, are the very definition of badass!"

"Yes! Great! Now get off me you loony gits!" Arthur growled, not un-amiably. Truthfully, he was feeling pretty damn good at the moment. In fact, he couldn't think of one thing that would spoil his good spirits.

That is, except...

_"Hello, England,"_ Arthur turned around and found himself staring once more into piercing violet eyes, only this time they were right in front of him, in all their unsettling glory...

"You did very well tonight…" Ivan continued, smiling at him from above that bloody scarf. "…I think your _father_ would be proud of you, yes?"

Arthur felt an eruption of hatred course its way through him like icy cold water. His stomach writhed as he looked into those wretched, twinkling eyes, wishing to gauge them out so he'd never have to see them staring that way at him again!

He looked straight ahead, using every bit of the strength he had left to keep his face calm, composed, emotionless…

"_Yes."_

The Russian's smile widened. "Yes," he repeated. "Good. I will send word to you when your next fight is scheduled."

"Right," Arthur heard himself agree. The only way he was going to survive this little interaction was to put himself very, very far away…

"Mm…" The Russian man's smile faltered a bit. "…_Dobriy vecher_ to you, England," and with that, the man turned and walked away, leaving Arthur feeling weak and strained, as if he'd just woken up from a very bad fever...

"Forget it," the German muttered darkly after a beat. "Art, you just proved once again that you are absolutely, 100% unbeatable. Do you know what that means? It's time to fucking celebrate!"

But Arthur, unable to shake away the lingering chills, shook his head tiredly: "No, Gil..."

"...I think I'm just going to go home."

* * *

**A/N: **So, yeah... Sweden. I guess we've got a Nordic theme going on the fights so far

Some translations for you:

_-"Arschloch" = asshole_

-"_Scheisse" _= shit (in German)

- "_Mierda_**"** = shit (in Spanish)

-"_Dobriy vecher" = _good evening

In all seriousness, this chapter was one that I was intimidated by since the beginning, but I'm fairly pleased with how it turned out. Lots more Gil than I expected!

**UP NEXT:** Arthur receives an unexpected phone call...

PS: I wonder why Toris has been listening to Lady Gaga? (;D)


	9. Chapter 8: Crush

**Chapter Eight:** Crush

...

_He is walking down his home street in London. It is raining, but he doesn't have an umbrella with him. He wonders what his mother will think, coming home soaked the way he is, but then he remembers that she is dead._

_He hears a sound behind him. Soft, steady whimpers that speak of pain and fear. He turns around and finds Peter lying crumpled in the middle of the street. The boy's skin is ashen, paper thin. The bones jut out of his face. His entire ribcage protrudes._

_He picks the boy up and finds that he is feather-light; he might as well be carrying the air. He knows he needs to get help fast, and so he begins to run. The rain beats down harder._

_In the distance he sees the silhouette of a man. He calls out to him but the man does not turn. A black form dances against the purplish sky: the shadow of a scarf whipping about in the wind._

_He runs faster, pleading with the man, holding his limp brother out like a tribute. The boy is quiet now, his eyes seem to sink beneath their lids. The man with the scarf does not turn. _

_He throws himself down on his knees, screams at the man. Sobs. He can feel his brother crumbling like dust in his arms. The sky turns dark around them. He notices that the rain feels heavier, that the drops are leaving trails of red on his skin. In his mouth, the taste of copper is so thick he starts to choke._

_At last, the man begins to turn. There is something in his hand, long and foreboding. A pipe... _

_He tells himself to move, to run, but his body does respond. Slowly, the man raises the pipe and all he can do is stare, waiting to see those two hateful glints of violet leer horrendously at him through the darkness... _

_The pipe comes crashing down, and he realizes it's not violet he's seeing..._

_It's green._

_..._

_... _

_..._

He wakes up in his bed gasping, body slicked with cold sweat, unable to remember the reason for why his heart is beating so bloody fast...

* * *

It was Friday afternoon, and Arthur found himself staring aimlessly out the record shop's front windows as a bout of freezing rain poured itself relentlessly down onto the deserted Boston streets. He could not think of a more perfect metaphor to match the type of mood he was in...

It had been a whole week since the night of the concert, and Alfred had not visited the record shop once. Arthur tried to brush it off, told himself over and over that it didn't matter, but, try as he might, he could not get rid of the sickish feeling that nagged at him in the pit of his stomach. Each work shift was more tortuous than the last, as Arthur's many excuses for why the boy might not have come began to dwindle, and the realization that he in all likelihood would never see Alfred again started to take hold.

And then there was the question of _why_ he was missing the boy so much in the first place. Had he possibly developed the _tiniest_ of crushes on the lad? No, no, surely not! He just felt close to the boy was all, in a purely platonic sense. It was strange, though, how this feeling of closeness had developed over such a short span of time… but then it didn't rightly matter anymore now did it? Alfred was just not coming back, and that was _that_.

Arthur heaved a heavy sigh, barely aware of the antics going on around him, (his boss was attempting for the umpteenth time to kick a certain chaos-causing German out of his store for good). The phone rang but Arthur waited for Roderich to pick it up – at the moment, he didn't really even feel like being conscious, much less listening to some customer's mindless drivel…

Much to Arthur's surprise, however, the phone was held out to him not a moment later, accompanied by a scowl:

"It's for you," Roderich explained, looking as if he'd just sucked on a particularly sour lemon. Not bothering to hide his eye-roll, Arthur took the phone and put it to his ear:

"Yes, who is it?" he snapped, annoyed at the necessary of _interaction._

"Hey, Artie, is that you?" Arthur froze, eyes widening, nearly dropping the phone in his surprise.

_That voice... _it rippled over him like a warm shower after being out in the cold. It was him. Alfred.

"Listen, um…" the boy continued, pausing to clear his throat."I'm just calling to say sorry for not stopping by the store at all..." The fireworks dispersed enough for Arthur to realize that the lad's voice sounded a bit different, sort of_... _strained_._ "...I know you probably think I'm a huge jerk and everything, but it's just – schoolwork has been pretty much kicking my ass lately, and-" the boy was cut off suddenly by a bout of deep, chesty coughs.

"Alfred!" Arthur exclaimed, finally finding his voice as the boy's fit died down. "You sound bloody dreadful!"

"No! No! I'm fine, I promise! I was just… choking on the air?" the boy denied, just before stifling a loud sneeze.

"Oh, right, and I suppose that's your oxygen allergies flaring up, hm? Arthur quipped, the sarcasm not quite strong enough to mask his worry.

"I have sensitive nostrils," the boy attempted, sniffling. Arthur let his skeptical silence fill the resulting pause.

"Okay okay, so, maybe I'm kind of a little bit sick…" Alfred conceded; his voice thick with congestion. "But it's nothing, really. I just… can't go more than two minutes without hackin' up a lung-" As if to prove his point, the boy was taken with yet another brutal coughing fit.

"_Bollocks_…" Arthur ran his free hand fretfully through his hair, grappling with a compulsive need to do something useful for the boy. "Are you taking care of yourself at least? Resting? Getting your fluids?"

"Nnngnn…" the boy groaned in response."Does a bottle of Mountain Dew Code Red count?"

"Absolutely not, and I'm horrified I even had to answer that."

"Gimme a break, Iggs, it's the only thing I had in my room!" Alfred whined wearily, before braking down with more coughs. "...I tried to go to the dining hall a little while ago... to get something in my stomach..." the boy continued, trying to speak through the final throes of the fit, "but I only made it halfway down the hallway before I started getting super dizzy and had to go back..."

"Christ! Alfred!" Arthur sputtered, completely aghast. "You couldn't have let your bloody roommate bring you something?"

"Well, see, Kiku's at this anime convention thing for the weekend, so it's kinda just me-"

"So, let me get this perfectly straight…" Arthur interrupted tersely, rubbing at the anxious pressure that was building up in his temples. "You're too ill to get out of bed, you haven't had a single thing to eat all day, _and_ you're completely fucking _alone_?"

"Um… yes?" the boy replied reluctantly.

"Right. I'm coming over," Arthur decided. "Williams Hall, was it?"

"What? No! …I mean yeah, but it's fine, really!" the boy protested, his voice cracking a bit from the strain. "You honestly do not have to do that-"

"Nonsense. It's what anyone decent would do," Arthur shushed, soothing the boy's objections. "I'll stop over as soon as I'm done with my shift. Just try to rest up till then, alright lo- …_Alfred_?"

Arthur scribbled down the boy's room number and said a quick good bye, his brain a whirlwind of emotions as he hung up the phone. He gradually became aware of the feeling of eyes upon him, and whipped his head around to find Roderich, Elizabeta and Gilbert all looking at him with varying levels of stupefaction expressed on their faces.

"What the bloody hell are you lot staring at, eh?" Arthur spat, the heat in his face enough to fry an egg on.

Roderich and Elizabeta both blushed and turned away, (Liz with a curiously devious grin), pretending as if nothing had happened. The albino, however, broke out into a devilish smile:

"Oh, nothing! Nothing at all..." the wanker professed, holding up his hands in mock-innocence.

"… _love_!"

**~(o)~**

* * *

**A/N:** Aww! (^^) I have to tell you guys, I have a bit of a sick/caretaker kink, so I really couldn't resist putting this in. Hope you don't mind!

Oh, by the way, I do not own Hetalia! (TT-TT)

**UP NEXT:** I think you might be able to hazard a guess! WARNING: Prepare for maximum fluff overload, commencing in 3… 2… 1… ;D


	10. Chapter 9: Downtime

**Chapter Nine:** Downtime

Arthur sighed, resting his head against the window as the T train screeched its way through the underbelly of the city. Nervous tension clenched his stomach – he felt like a stress ball squeezed to its maximum limit. From the moment he'd hung up with Alfred, his mind had been racing with an almost _motherly_ concern for the boy. It had been so bad that Roderich had even let him off work early – on the condition that he would work a double his next shift, of course.

Of course, Arthur had been more than happy to comply. He had sprinted the whole seventeen blocks in the pouring rain to his apartment, stopping there just long enough to change out of his soaked clothes and cook a pot of chicken soup (which he ended up failing miserably at, having ultimately to ask the bloody Frog for assistance), before making a beeline for the nearest subway station.

Remarkably, the train had arrived with timeliness near unheard of (during a Friday rush hour, at least), and now all Arthur had to do was pray that the bloody contraption would refrain from breaking down within the next forty minutes or so…

Fortunately, Arthur's luck held out, and the train made it to the campus without incident. After getting turned around only one or two times, Arthur finally found his way to Alfred's building, which was an immense relief, and not just because he'd gotten more than a little bit wet on the way.

Still, as Arthur approached the boy's door, he found himself fighting off a rather heady case of nerves. Honestly now, there was no rational excuse for this rubbish – he's just a nineteen-year-old boy, for godsakes! _And you are a twenty-three year old, thus-far infallible underground boxing phenomenon, so man the hell up and grow a bloody pair already!_

_Right._ And with that, Arthur pushed the damp hair out of his eyes and knocked sharply on the door. He startled when it was opened almost immediately, revealing a very tired and disheveled-looking Alfred dressed in a gray long-sleeve and a pair of Superman pajama-bottoms.

"Iggy! You came!" The boy pulled Arthur into an unexpected hug. Arthur felt like a nuclear reactor had suddenly gone off in his stomach.

"D-don't act so surprised to see me, git! I told you I was coming!" he managed as he struggled against the hug. Good grief, the lad was _strong_, even when he was sick! "…A-And I've told you a thousand times not to bloody call me that!" he finished shakily, straightening himself out as Alfred finally released him. _Bollocks,_ _had that really just happened?_

"I'm sorry, it's just so good to see you" the boy said, his smile radiant even though his face was pale and flushed; Arthur was very surprised when he didn't melt into a puddle on the floor. "JEEZ! What happened to your face?" the boy asked, and Arthur remembered the rather substantial bruise that had decorated his cheek for the past week.

"Oh, it's nothing. Sodding Francis whacked me with a door," he lied quickly. "Frankly, I'm a bit more concerned with _your_ health at the moment." _And with good reason_, he thought as the boy turned to cough a bit into his shoulder.

"Ehhh, I'll be fine," Alfred replied with a sheepish grin. "Nothin' can keep this guy down for long!" He walked back into his room and grabbed a towel from a nearby shelf. "Here," he said, tossing the towel to Arthur. "It must be raining cats n' dogs out there."

"Horses, I think," Arthur quipped, and looked around the room as he dried off his hair, (trying very hard not to think about the places of Alfred's body that that towel might've touched).

The two sides of the room were almost comical in their dissimilarity. The left side of the room was neat and sparse – in fact, the only hints of a person living there at all were the gray comforter and pale green cylindrical pillow that dressed the bed, the poster of Mount Fuji on the wall, and the rather futuristic computer that sat on the desk next to a picture of a very poofy-looking dog.

Alternatively, the right side of the room was anything but sparse. The walls were covered with pictures of various superheroes. Comic books lined the floor along with some socks and a few empty food receptacles. The bedspread (dark blue plaid) was a tangled, heaping mess from which not one but _three_ pillows peeked out. The ceiling above the bed was decorated with peel-off, glow-in-the-dark stars.

It was not necessary for Arthur to ask whose side was whose.

"You know it's funny," Alfred said as he plopped himself down on the right-hand bed. "I never really know what to do with myself when I'm sick. You'd think with two doctor-parents I'd have gotten the hang of it by now, but they weren't home a whole lot…"

"Your parents are doctors?" Arthur asked. Unsure of what to do with himself, he had opted to wander over to Alfred's desk, which was home to a sort of organized chaos in the form of books and scattered notes. He picked up a sheet of what appeared to be chemistry homework and gathered at once that it was too complex for him to even begin to understand.

"…Yeah, my dad's an orthopedic surgeon and my mom's a family practitioner," the boy answered. "It's pretty cool, I mean, they're both really great, but they travel a lot. "Doctors Without Borders and stuff..."

"Oh… I see," Arthur mumbled, hesitant about how to reply. He looked up at the bulletin board above the desk, which, apart from holding a rather hectic-looking schedule, was filled to the brim with photographs. A picture of Alfred putting what looked like a near duplicate of himself into a headlock caught Arthur's attention.

"Is this your brother?" he asked, pointing out the picture. Alfred leaned over the bed frame and squinted.

"Yep, that's Mattie!" he replied. "Younger than me by ten whole minutes, but everyone thinks I'm the younger one for some reason…"

"I can't imagine why," Arthur snorted, eyes still moving across the photographs. "…And who's this woman?" he asked, pointing to a withered, elderly woman that appeared in quite a number of them.

"Oh! That's my Wayla!" the boy answered excitedly. "She's this wicked awesome Cherokee lady who took care of me and Matt when the 'rents were gone. She basically raised us-" He was interrupted by a particularly ruthless coughing fit. "Damnit… ungh…" He groaned and leaned up against the wall, curling his knees to his chest. Arthur felt himself well up once more with anxious worry; then he remembered the near-forgotten thermos of soup in his hand.

"Here, um… you should probably have some of this," he mumbled, blushing, as he poured some soup into the thermos's cup. "I don't know if it's any good, but it's something at least…" He handed the cup along with a spoon he had packed to Alfred, who broke out into a smile that made Arthur want to melt all over again.

"Wow! You made me soup?" the boy asked as he accepted the cup. Arthur's blushed deepened and he rubbed his neck apologetically.

"Erm, well, the Frog did most of it but I, er… helped a bit. Turned the stove on anyway-"

"Artie, that's the nicest thing ever!" The boy's response, while exuberant, had a bit of a delusional air to it, and Arthur wondered if Alfred was possibly running a fever…

"Mm. Here, now lie back a bit," he found himself directing softly, arranging the boy's pillows into an inclined mound. "You need to relax, or you'll make yourself worse."

"I can't! I'm restless!" the boy whined dramatically, bouncing the mattress, and Arthur got the distinct impression that he was attempting to babysit a sick 10-year-old. _Hmph, bloody crush my arse_, he thought to himself, but then Alfred turned that wretched smile on him once more.

"Hey… wanna watch a movie with me?"

"Er…" Arthur faltered. He wasn't sure he was quite prepared to stay in the boy's presence for duration of an entire _movie_…

"Pleeease?" And there it was: that damned puppy-dog look. Arthur sighed, knowing that whatever battle he might try to fight would be a losing one.

"Alright then, if it'll help to sedate you a bit-"

"YES! I have the perfect one, too! A freaking classic…" Alfred tumbled down onto the floor in front of the TV stand and began rooting through the large collection of DVDs. "Tell me, young padawan…" the boy grinned, holding up his chosen movie at last: "…have you heard of a little thing called the _Force_?"

_Oh, bloody hell._

* * *

"_A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away… It is a period of civil war. Rebel spaceships, striking-"_

"Must you read the prologue out loud?"

"Artie, you do not even know how many times I have seen this movie. I could quote the whole thing backwards if I wanted to!"

"Please don't"

"Haha, don't worry; the Wookie noise hurts my throat anyway…"

Arthur glanced over at the boy, who had settled contentedly beneath the bedspread, propped up by his stack of pillows. Since there were no other comfortable places to watch the TV from, Arthur had been forced to sit next to Alfred on his bed, and he could already tell what a _phenomenally_ bad idea that had been. They weren't touching at all (he had made damn sure of that!), but Arthur could feel the boy's warmth radiating out from beneath the blankets, and it was all he could do to keep from trembling with the magnitude of tingles that were coursing up and down his spine. Luckily, Alfred's incessant babble (honestly, he was even quoting that blasted beeping robot!) was at least doing something to distract him, even if it was right bloody irritating…

But then the boy shifted under his covers, his leg just barely grazing Arthur's own. A bolt of electricity raced through Arthur's body at the unexpected touch, and he just barely contained a small gasp of surprise.

_Christ, it was going to be a long two hours…_

* * *

"Cor, they didn't even attempt to make scientific sense in this film, did they?"

"Nope, and that's why it's awesome!"

"And what is with these annoying dwarf-things?"

"_Jawas." _

"Whatever! You can clearly see their eyes are just a pair of bloody light bulbs!"

"Who knows, Iggy? Maybe they could have naturally evolved eyes that work just like light bulbs!"

"Pshhh. Load of rubbish if you ask me."

"Aw, you're just mad still because I called you C-3PO-"

"_I sound nothing like him!"_

"Hahaha! Okay, whatever you say Iggs…"

* * *

"…So after all that he's just going to up and leave?"

"Don't knock Han, Iggy. The guy's a freaking hero!"

"A crass, overly-macho bastard is what he is."

"Artie! My ears, they bleed!"

"Oh, belt up will you?"

"Um, I'm sorry Iggy, but what exactly do you want me to do with my belt? Haha- Ow! Hey, quit it!"

* * *

As the final credits began to roll, Arthur couldn't help but grin. _That hadn't been so bad_. It had actually been sort of nice. He couldn't remember the last time he'd let himself unwind enough to enjoy a movie, albeit a rather ridiculous one…

He gradually became aware of a soft sound emanating from his right; the boy, it appeared, had fallen asleep, and his quiet snores punctured the gray stillness of the room. Arthur's breath caught in his throat as he stared at Alfred's sleeping form – the boy looked so young, so vulnerable. So unlike the hyperactive nitwit he had thus-far come to know. Arthur marveled at how comforted he felt, looking at the boy as he slept. He felt special. _Needed_, he supposed – but in a way he couldn't remember ever feeling before. It was… quite remarkable.

Carefully, Arthur reached over and removed the boy's glasses, folding them up and placing them on the shelf behind him. He hesitated, and then rested his hand against Alfred's forehead, testing for a fever, before carding it gently through the boy's tangled, messy hair. He held his breath when Alfred stirred, eyebrows furrowing a bit, but the boy stayed asleep, releasing a soft, unconscious groan.

Arthur's heart fluttered; he knew in that moment that he could deny it no longer, (at least to himself). He was crushing on the boy. He was crushing _hard_.

_Well, what of it?_ Arthur thought to himself as he delicately extracted the remote from Alfred's hand and turned off the television. Really now, what harm could come of a little crush, as long as he made sure not to act on it in any way? That psychotic Russian wasn't so bloody all-powerful that he could read Arthur's thoughts, was he? Arthur shuddered at the notion, but his mind was made up. This would be okay; as long as he was careful to mind that the boy didn't get caught up in any of the _less-than-savory_ aspects of his life… This would be fine.

Arthur smiled, resting his head on his curled arm, and told himself that he'd only stay a few minutes longer – it was just so bloody hard to tear his eyes away from the boy. _Just a few more minutes, and then he'd be gone…_

* * *

…

…

…

"Mnnnghnn…" Arthur groaned softly and opened his eyes, yawning. It seemed as though he'd dozed off for a bit. He lifted his head, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and looked over at Alfred. The boy was fast asleep, still snoring, his face all but buried in the depths of his pillow. There was a spot of drool drying beside his half-open mouth, Arthur noticed with amusement. Then he noticed the strip of sunlight that swathed the boy's face from the curtained window nearby. _Sunlight?_ Just how long had he been asleep for anyway?

Arthur glanced warily down at his watch. 10:34 _**AM?**_ It wasn't possible! Arthur never even slept in past eight, and that was counting weekends!

"_Bollocks,"_ Arthur hissed, sitting up hastily, and ran his hands through his hair. What was he going to do? It was one thing to give acknowledgement to the infinitesimal, insignificant bit of a crush he seemed to have developed on Alfred; it was a whole different thing to fall asleep next to the boy for _the entire bleeding night! _How could he even begin to explain it? What would bloody _Francis_ say?

_There's still hope_, Arthur thought desperately. _I'll just sneak out now while the boy's still-_

"Hey…" Arthur turned to find Alfred sitting up, looking at him with a sleepy half-grin on his face.

"Alfred," Arthur sighed, feeling his anxiety drain away with the boy's stare. "Sorry to wake you. I must've accidentally fallen asleep…"

"S'ok," the boy replied, stretching his arms in a huge yawn. "You must've needed the rest just as bad as me."

Arthur frowned a bit, remembering the fitful nights of sleep he'd been having, but pushed the thought away. "How are you feeling?" he asked timidly, as Alfred roughly cleared his throat.

"Better," was the boy's weary reply. "I think my fever might be gone…"

"Mm, let's not be too hasty, shall we?" Arthur murmured instinctively, and before he knew what he was doing he had placed his hand against Alfred's brow, just as he'd secretly done the night before. The boy froze for a split-second, then closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, sighing softly. His eyes opened again, and Arthur's heart skipped a few beats. The way he was looking at him, it was almost as if…

"Arthur…" the boy breathed, leaning in closer still. "There's something I want to-"

THUD! The moment was lost as the door wooshed open and someone staggered in carrying an arm load of luggage and shopping bags. Arthur almost immediately recognized him as the small Asian who had visited the record shop before, only this time the fellow, (Kiku, right?) wasn't dressed up as a cat. He was instead wearing what appeared to be a sort of old fashioned, white naval uniform. And was that a _katana_ Arthur saw strapped to his back? What sort of convention had this chap been attending again?

"Hello, Alfred-kun, I brought you some pock-EAHHH!" The Asian fellow blushed brightly as the scene before him registered. "Oh! I-I am very sorry! If you will please excuse me-"

"No, No!" Arthur interrupted, yanking his hand back hurriedly, his own blush staining his cheeks. "I was just leaving anyway!"

"You were?" Alfred questioned, frowning.

"I, er… have some errands to run, yes," Arthur explained as he scrambled off the bed and gathered up his belongings. "And you don't need me any longer now that your roommate's arrived…" He pulled on his shoes and coat and made for the door.

"But Artie-" the boy tried, but Arthur silenced him.

"Do take care of yourself, Alfred…" he cut in quietly, looking over his shoulder just as he'd reached the door. "…Please?"

The boy's frown deepened: "Okay, but-"

"Best be off!" Arthur exclaimed, opening the door. "It was very nice seeing you again, Kiku!" he said, nodding to the traumatized-looking lad before slamming the door behind him.

_Sweet bleeding hell!_ Arthur staggered down the hallway, panting, sweat pouring down his heated face. He only knew one thing for certain, and it was that he needed a drink. He needed a drink RIGHT. BLOODY. NOW.

He exited the building, hell-bent on finding the liquor shop of the closest proximity, wondering in the back of his head what exactly it was that Alfred had been about to say anyway…

**~(o)~**

* * *

**A/N:** So yeah, Kiku was cosplaying as 'Japan' from Hetalia: Axis Powers for his anime convention... XD. Hooray for meta jokes! (I do not own Hetalia, Star Wars, Boston College, pocky, or any other artifacts of sub-cultures I may have possibly mentioned!)

A Note on Alfred's 'Wayla': She's sort of an OC personification of Native America. The name is derived from the Cherokee word for "old woman", a-ga-we-la (pronounced ah-gah-way-la). She's not hugely important, but she will be showing up again later on in the story. :D

A hundred thousand thank-yous to my fabulous (and fast-as-lightning) new beta, Holly-Batali!

**UP NEXT:** Arthur gets a bit more out of the sleepover than he bargained for…


	11. Chapter 10: Karma

**A/N:** Wow you guys! I am so lucky to have such an amazing reader-base! We went from 58 to** 77** reviews in one update! It made my heart so happy! This chapter and the upcoming one are both going to be dedicated to three of my most faithful reviewers: HamburgerWithTea, Polar Pig, and PianoIsLove, as well as my awesome beta reader, Holly-Batali! You guys are wonderful!

To everyone else, thank you so, so much! (I'll see what I can do for you with up-coming chapters, ne?)

Here you go!

* * *

**Chapter 10:** Karma

"_Oh ho ho!_ Just look at how the mighty have fallen!"

Francis stood over Arthur with a shit-eating grin on his sodding Frog face. Arthur growled into the sofa's throw pillow, pulling his blanket up tighter around his ears. If he hadn't felt so horrible he would probably have murdered the Frenchman on the spot.

"Shove off, bloody French _bas… tard… H'TCHU_!" he attempted to snarl, but the sneeze sort of negated any of the intended venom.

"_A tes souhaits, mon cher_" Francis smiled, pulling a box of tissues from the grocery bag hanging from his wrist and sliding it across the coffee table. Arthur scowled at the tissues, sniffing disdainfully instead.

"Ahh_ oui…_" the Frenchman prattled on obliviously, lifting the Briton's legs up and replacing them on his lap as he sat down on the couch; (Arthur freed them with a kick and curled them resentfully up to his chest), "…It seems as though our invincible Arthur is not so invincible after all. Not to the powers of _l' amour _anyway!"

Arthur raised his head to glare at his abhorrent couch-companion: "I swear on the Queen's grave, Francis, I will ring your Frog neck so bloody fast-"

"Oh! It seems that I have struck a nerve, _non_?" Francis simpered, wrapping his arm around the back of the sofa. "Here, let me make it better…" He began to crawl seductively over toward Arthur's side of the couch, much to the Briton's horror and repulsion.

"DON'T YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!" Arthur cried, voice cracking painfully, before dissolving into a bout of coughs. The Frenchman was having none of it, however; he was practically on top of Arthur now, blue eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Do not shout, _mon cher_. You will strain your beautiful _voix_" Francis cooed, reaching out a finger and tracing Arthur's left eyebrow. "Ahh, you are just so cute when you are _malade-_"

"I… AM GOING… TO _ANNIHALATE_ YOU!" Arthur roared between coughs, ripping apart his throat in the process. He grabbed the Frog's finger away from his face and twisted, hoping to break a few bones before the perverted wanker managed to break free. Francis, in turn, let out a girly yelp of pain, collapsing on top of Arthur, which resulted in a chaotic mess of flailing and screaming (mostly on Arthur's part) as the two men struggled against one another's assaults. Fortunately, (for Francis at least, as Arthur had just caught him in a stranglehold), the sofa-battle crashed to a grinding halt at the sound of someone knocking on the door.

Francis, upon being reluctantly released, stood up and straightened himself out, fixing his (ridiculous) ponytail before making his way to the front door. Meanwhile, Arthur wrapped himself back in his blanket, groaning, feeling completely drained. _This is what I get for having a bloody crush_, Arthur thought miserably as he sunk his head back into his pillow. And a crush was _all _it was, he reminded himself, despite what his infuriating roommate seemed to believe. _What the fuck does he know about it anyway?_ Arthur wondered furiously. _The prat avoids serious relationships like he avoids showering!_ Not that Arthur thought that he and Alfred would ever approach anything even remotely close to _serious_ – that was so far off the radar it might as well be in its own galaxy!

Still, he simply couldn't help thinking about the boy. He wondered if Alfred was feeling any better… fretted over his hasty and rather impolite exit… felt a swell of familiar flutters whenever the memory of boy asleep resurfaced in his thoughts… He tensed with anticipation at the idea that maybe, _just maybe_ it was Alfred at the door, having somehow managed to discover the address of his apartment. It wasn't impossible – the boy could have pestered Roderich about it until the Austrian gave in; he was certainly exasperating enough…

_But no_, Arthur realized with an icy shiver. The voice he was hearing at the door was not Alfred's, was about as far away from Alfred's as one could possibly get. _Fuck…_

_Ivan._

Arthur sprang from the couch and straightened himself out, highly reluctant to let his boss see him in any state of weakness. He cleared his throat, wishing desperately to be dressed in anything other than sweatpants, just as said-Russian walked into the room, sporting a long overcoat, (as well as that wretched scarf), his arms held suspiciously behind his back.

"_Dobryĭ denʹ_, Arthur" Ivan greeted softly, a small smile playing across his face. "I heard that you were feeling unwell… is this true?" Arthur watched as his boss's gaze glided across the span of the shabby room, taking in the cheap curtains and beat-up furniture.

"I'm fine," he insisted, although his mangled voice was not doing much to help his cause.

The Russian's eyes narrowed even as his smile broadened: "Please do not lie to me Arthur, I can always tell. _You know this_" Arthur swallowed and nodded stiffly, reluctant to attempt another reply.

"I trust you will make yourself well again before the fight this weekend. It is necessary, yes?" Ivan questioned, head tilted at a condescending angle.

"Of course" Arthur managed to mutter, his pride slowly losing the fight against exhaustion.

"Perhaps…" the Russian continued, his expression taking on a mysterious new intensity. "You should not be spending so much time with this new friend of yours. He seems to be wearing on your health…"

Arthur felt himself freeze up in shock; his heart was suddenly pounding in his chest. _He knew then._ Of course he did – it was impossible for Arthur to keep anything in his life private anymore. Somehow, the goddamned Russian bastard always managed to find out…

"_Alfred is just an acquaintance_," Arthur said through gritted teeth, praying that Ivan's suspicions didn't reach as far as he feared they might. The Russian stared hard at him, searching for the lie on his face, but Arthur steeled himself, retaining his calculated poise though it was rapidly depleting him of what energy he had left.

Finally, the admonition cleared from Ivan's face, though his smile remained thin.

"Mmm… Well, I will leave you to rest then" He pivoted to leave, but stopped himself: "Ah yes, I had nearly forgotten…" He pulled his gloved hand from behind his back, revealing a small bouquet of sunflowers. "I have brought these for you as a feel-better present. See? I am not such a bad boss to have after all…" Arthur stayed frozen, this time with confusion, making no attempt to accept the flowers, and so the Russian laid them down on the coffee table instead.

"I will see you on Saturday, yes?" Ivan asked as he turned to leave, his back facing Arthur.

"Yes…" Arthur whispered hoarsely, unable to take his eyes off the bundle of yellow and green.

"Goodbye then" the Russian replied, and without as much as another glance in Arthur's direction, he adjusted his scarf and left the room.

Arthur felt the blood drain from his face as he listened dimly to the sound of Francis letting Ivan out of the apartment. He flopped weakly back onto the sofa and dropped his head into his hands, trying to gain control over the sick shivers that were coursing through him. He looked up as Francis returned.

"Ahh, _cheri…_" Francis sighed sympathetically as he crossed over to Arthur. "Come, you must lay back and rest. I will not lay a finger on you, _je te promets_" He pulled the blanket out from beneath Arthur and draped it back on top of the Briton as Arthur wearily laid himself back down. He closed his eyes, too tired to be miffed by the Frenchman's pitying concern, his brain still a dizzy whir of Russian accents, sunflowers, and boys with sky-blue eyes…

**~(o)~**

* * *

**A/N**: Ahh, yes... angst. Also, FrUK? RusUK? We know where Arthur's heart lies, but what about everyone else? (hint: Your guess is as good as mine!)

Translations:

-_ A tes souhaits _= 'To your heath (wishes)'. The French equivalent of 'God bless you'

-_ voix_ = 'voice'

-_malade_ = 'sick'

-_ Dobryĭ denʹ_ = 'good day'

-_ je te promets_ = 'I promise'

Thank you all again so much for reviewing! To show my appreciation, I'm going to get all clichéd and offer the 100th reviewer a free one-shot featuring any Hetalia pairing they'd like, (time to get creative!). You guys are so amazing, honestly! :D

**UP NEXT:** Arthur's still not feeling well, but maybe a certain American can do a better job of cheering him up? (Also, a long-awaited new face shows up! Who could it be? ;D)


	12. Chapter 11: Closer

**A/N: **Wow guys, I am so sorry for this late update. My laptop has officially kicked the bucket, so it's been really hard to even get on this site, let alone post anything! Don't worry though, I will try my hardest to update on a semi-hormal basis. I'm too attached to this story to do anything else. :D

Once again this chapter is dedicated to HamburgerWithTea, PolarPig, and PianoIsLove, and my beta Holly-Batali, who is on vacation (so apologies if there are any mistakes). Enjoy!

(Heavy language warning, FYI. You'll see why...)

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**- Closer

That Friday marked the return of Alfred's visits to the record shop, and Arthur didn't know whether to sigh in relief or smack his head against the counter repeatedly. If truth be told he was still feeling pretty terrible, and the compulsive efforts at hiding (or attempting to hide) his less-than-healthy condition from the boy were beginning to take their toll on his already-depleted energy levels. Not that Alfred was buying into the act anyway.

"You should be in bed," he insisted for about the fiftieth time so far. Arthur groaned mentally, refusing to meet the boy's eyes when an unintended sniffle escaped his control.

"For the last bloody time, _git_, I am perfectly fine." He tried to disguise his exhaustion with annoyance, but Alfred refused to back down.

"No you're not. You're sick and it's my fault." he argued, his brow furrowed with guilt (which, Arthur had to admit, was actually rather endearing). "The least you could do is let me bring you back to your apartment-"

"Out of the question" Arthur interrupted tersely.

"But whyyyyyyy?" the boy whined, pouting outrageously. Arthur sucked in an ever-patient breath:

"Because…" _Because you are nineteen and I am twenty-three. Because you have your entire future ahead of you and the last thing you need is for me to drag you any deeper into my lunatic excuse for a life than I already have…_

"…just because." The boy did not seem satisfied with his response. He continued to sulk, milking that sodding kicked-puppy look for all it was worth; throwing in a few dismal sighs for good measure. Arthur stubbornly stood his ground, knowing all the while that he was waging war against the inevitable.

"Look," he sighed at last in surrender. "If I let you buy me a cup of tea will that help ease your guilty conscience?"

Alfred narrowed his eyes, weighing out the deal in his mind: "No, but it's better than nothing," he grudgingly replied.

"Fine," Arthur assented. "Roderich, I'm taking my break." he called to the back office, wincing as the yell scraped his tender throat.

"Oh really?" the manager called back irritably, poking his head out of the doorway. "What do you call that last hour and a half then, pray tell? I'm not paying you to talk to pretty boys, Kirkland!"

"Bloody Austrian prick" Arthur grumbled, hiding his blush as he grabbed his coat and followed a grinning Alfred out into the frigid afternoon.

* * *

For the sake of proximity (and because it was right fucking cold, damn it!), Arthur decided to bite the bullet and led Alfred to a little Italian bistro at the end of the block which he had come to know all too well over the years. Alfred followed happily along, pulling the door open with a saucy "after you, my good sir!" as they arrived. Arthur huffed at the horrid impression of his accent, but felt himself blush nonetheless. Honestly, he was really going to have to get control over that nonsense. The boy was oblivious, but not _that_ oblivious, and it wouldn't do to give him the wrong impression. Not with everything the way it was…

Lapsing into a contemplative silence, Arthur made his way over to a booth by the window, not bothering to wait to be seated. Alfred followed dutifully behind and plopped down into the seat across from him.

"Man, this place is kinda fancy, huh? Are you sure we're allowed to just sit down like this? …Hey, Artie-" the boy's tone shifted from excitement to concern: "you okay, man?"

"Hm?" Arthur asked, pushing his introspections aside. "Oh, fine. Headache." he explained away, and felt a small wave of shivers wash over him when the concern in Alfred's eyes sharpened almost protectively. For a split-second, Arthur thought he saw the boy's hand flinch as if to reach out for his own, but just as he decided it had been his imagination after all, a shortish, brown-haired man dressed in a white collared shirt and red tie approached their table, fixing them with a particularly acute glower of disdain.

"Welcome to Fratellos. What can I get for you _gentlemen_ today?" the man asked through gritted teeth, sounding as though he'd rather be nailing his fingers to the table than taking their order. Arthur exhaled heavily, already regretting his decision to come here.

"Hullo, Lovino. I'll just have a cup of Earl Gray please-"

"And soup!" Alfred interjected from across the table.

"I don't need any bloody soup!" Arthur protested, flushing with embarrassment.

The boy crossed his arms in defiance: "You brought me soup!" he retorted.

"That's different. I'm not going to have you look on as I eat like some sort of sodding charity case!"

"Alright, alright! Easy there, killer!" the boy exclaimed, throwing his hands up in mock-surrender, unmindful of Arthur's ensuing glare-of-death. He rolled his eyes, supplying the waiter with a knowing smirk: "I guess we'll make that a soup for him and a cheeseburger for me then. Medium-well with extra cheese and ketchup, please, and fries if you got 'em!"

The waiter stared at Alfred as if he had suddenly sprouted another head. "Are you fucking joking? This is a goddamned authentic Italian restaurant, you uncultured American ass-tard!"

Alfred blinked in baffled shock: "Woah. Um, okay… _una cheesburgini_ then, _por favorno_?" he amended – quite sincerely Arthur noted without much surprise. The waiter's eyes bugged out of their sockets, the left one twitching dangerously. He looked as if he was trying to telekinetically set the boy on fire.

"Just ask Feli to do what he can…" Arthur interrupted, his patience wearing paper thin.

"Hey listen here, _Crumpets_, this isn't some shitty McDonald's! I don't care how many fuckers you've-" the waiter began to protest, but the retort seemed to die in his throat as Arthur gave him his best 'finish-that-sentence-and-you'll-be-bloody-well-sorry' look. The waiter's expression morphed abruptly from anger to fear, and with a stammered "I-I mean, right away, sir! _Subito_!" he backed his way across the restaurant to the kitchen, bumping into numerous customer-filled tables along the way.

Arthur wondered for what seemed like the billionth time what in the hell that loud-mouthed wanker could have done to make Antonio so daft over him, but then he realized (again, for the billionth time) that he didn't much care. Just so long as he got his bloody tea.

"Hot damn, that was the rudest waiter I have ever met in my life!" Alfred piped up, staring after the Italian in awe. "How come he was so freaked out by you?" he asked, turning back to Arthur.

"Hell if I know," Arthur replied, busying himself with unrolling his silverware bundle, hoping the lie wasn't too apparent on his face.

He could feel Alfred's stare linger on him though, until finally Arthur was forced to meet his gaze: "Hey Artie?" the boy began with an unusual quietness. "…Um, this is gonna sound like a weird question but uh… Do you trust me?"

Arthur flushed, wondering if he'd heard the boy wrong. "S-Sorry?" he managed to sputter at last, no longer able to look the boy in the eye.

Alfred continued to plow on: "I mean, I know we've only known each other for a few weeks now but, well, I just- …I feel like I've told you so much about me, you know? And I still don't really know anything about you."

Arthur turned to the window, sighing ruefully: "There's not much to know," he replied softly.

"Sure there is!" Alfred prompted. "Like, what are you doing in America anyway?"

"I live here, dolt," Arthur replied, casting him a side-glare. An arbitrary waitress brought over his tea and he accepted it, grateful for something to distract himself with.

"Well yeah…" the boy pressed on, watching him stir in his sugar and milk. "But I mean, why did you move here? I know America's wicked awesome and all, but you don't just decide to move to another country for no reason, right?"

Arthur sighed deeply, breathing in the steam from his tea. He took a sip and let the comforting warmth slide through him, causing him to shiver.

"That's a bit of a complicated story…" he mumbled at last, swirling the spoon round and round in his cup as he mulled over what to say next. He could always lie to the boy, or change the subject; say that he didn't want to get into it as he had done with so many others who'd asked before. But with Alfred it was different. The boy had put his faith in Arthur in a way no one else ever had, and so he felt he owed it to him to tell the truth, or part of it anyway.

And it wasn't just that. He _wanted_ to tell Alfred. He couldn't explain it – he just _did_. Still, there was so much, he didn't quite know where to start…

"Right, um… well, I suppose it was my mum's idea. She died when I was seventeen and my half-brother Peter was six…" Arthur began slowly, forming his words carefully so as not to get tripped up in the emotion behind them. Looking at the boy was impossible, so he kept his eyes trained into his cup.

"She had been sick for a while so it didn't come as a surprise or anything, but it was still quite difficult; especially for Peter. He just couldn't understand at that age, you know? Why his mother had suddenly just disappeared…" he paused to collect himself, staring determinedly out the window, biting hard on the inside of his cheek.

"Anyway, her final wish was for Peter and I to travel to Boston to find my father. She had this fancy that he would take us in, you see, even though they hadn't spoken a word to each other in almost two decades…" He took a sip of tea to wash the bitter taste out of his mouth, and then willed himself to press onward.

"So we packed up and left, only to find out when we arrived that he'd died months earlier. He had made a sort of… _reputation_ for himself as it turned out, and well, I suppose it c-caught up with him…" His voice quivered on the last bit as he remembered the disgust he felt the night he discovered who his father truly had been. How ironic it was to look back on that feeling now, considering what he had himself become…

He drowned the tremor out with another sip of tea.

"His, er, former employer-" Arthur cut himself off and went silent, struggling to contain the shiver that crawled down his spine at the memory of meeting _him_ for the very first time. His head swam as the thought of those blasted sunflowers entered his mind; the ones he'd stared at for hours before finally hurling one by one out the window in a vehement rage…

"He… he had been willing to take us in," Arthur began again at last, sucking in a shuddering breath. "but I refused. I didn't want that sort of life for Peter. I… I thought I'd be able to take care of him on my own. It was a foolish decision, really…" He paused again, staring hard at the ceiling to keep the guilty tears that were threatening to form at bay.

"I wasn't able to find work or lodging at first, and for a time we were... well, we lived on the streets. It was only for a few weeks, but it was early spring, and Peter ended up catching pneumonia-" The words were tumbling out of his mouth now; it was either that or tears, and he certainly wasn't going to let himself cry in front of the boy. He'd rather suffocate. Boil his hands in acid. Kiss Francis. No, wait… not that last one. Definitely not that last one.

"I was so sure he wasn't going to make it…" Arthur continued shakily, fighting against the memories of hacking coughs and waxen skin that burned painfully in the forefront of his mind. "But then-"

_But then what?_ How could he possibly explain what happened then without revealing everything – every sordid little detail? How he had crawled back like a coward… how he'd _begged_… the deal he'd made, which ended up costing so much more than he could ever have imagined…

"…But then he got better, and I found my job at the record shop, and… that's it, I suppose." Arthur finished numbly, coughing a bit, his eyes returning once more to the swirling brown liquid in his cup. At long last, he was able to muster up the strength to look up at Alfred, and was shocked to find the boy red-eyed, with streaks of tears drying on his cheeks.

"Arthur, that's just… I'm so sorry…" the boy started, brow furrowing with the frustration of not being able to come up with the proper words for what he wanted to say. If the table hadn't been between them Arthur was quite certain the boy would've simply given up and hugged him instead; he wasn't sure whether to be thankful or sorry for its presence.

"It's quite alright, really… It, um… it feels good to talk about it…" Arthur admitted thoughtfully. And really, it did. Arthur hated the cliché, but it actually felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off his chest. His muscles had lost some of the tension he had long since learned to ignore.

"So, Peter's living with you in your apartment then?" Alfred asked, sniffing as he wiped his face on his sleeve.

"God no! That bloody waste pit is no place for a child." Arthur grumbled, sipping his tea. "No, no. I shipped him off to boarding school as soon as I… found the means."

Arthur frowned as he saw a glint of skepticism enter the boy's eyes: "Don't get me wrong Artie," Alfred began carefully. "I know you work a ton of hours and all, but isn't boarding school like, super expensive? How do you afford it?"

"I manage," Arthur replied shortly, his jaw clenching. "Peter's a good lad… gets scholarships..." he elaborated, softening a bit as the boy blushed and looked down. He swallowed back the guilt he felt for his lies, breathing a sigh of relief when Lovino finally returned with their food:

"One fucking soup. One fucking cheeseburger," the waiter growled, slamming the dishes down in front of them with no regard whatsoever. "Enjoy, you fucking motherfuckers." Without a second glance, the Italian stomped away to terrorize some other unfortunate guests. Alfred and Arthur both stared silently after him, then turned to their meals – Alfred with a look of particular confusion. He glanced up at Arthur hesitantly:

"Umm… This is just a giant bowl of spaghetti."

* * *

Walking back to the record shop after their meal, Arthur felt his exhaustion beginning to catch up with him in great haste. Truthfully, the soup had helped a bit, and so had opening up to Alfred, but the latter had also left him feeling emotionally drained, and all he wanted to do now was curl up and sleep for a thousand years. And _God_, why did it have to be so bloody _freezing_?

"Look Iggy! It's snowing!" Alfred exclaimed beside him, sticking his tongue out to catch the snowflakes that had indeed begun to fall from the steely-grey sky above.

"Hn" Arthur grunted, his attention fully concentrated on getting out of the cold as soon as possible. He sneezed into his shoulder and sniffled, stifling a groan that threatened to escape.

"Bless you," the boy said, looking over. "Jeez, Artie! You're shivering so bad!"

"N-no I'm n-not, g-git!" Arthur attempted to argue, but the boy ignored him, unzipping that bomber jacket he was never without.

"Here," Alfred said, pulling the jacket off and draping it around Arthur's shoulders. "I was kinda hot in it anyway," he added with a sheepish grin.

"Alfred, I- …th-thanks," Arthur stammered out, too tired to let his pride protest. He pulled the jacket tighter around him, drinking in the warmth, the faint smells of fast food and Old Spice, his stomach surging in an explosion of butterflies…

"Well, I gotta head back to campus," Alfred said when they had arrived back at the record shop. "You sure you'll be okay?"

"Yeah, I've only got a few hours left of my shift. I should be able to handle it," Arthur replied, struggling not to get too wrapped up in the startling softness of the boy's eyes.

"Okay, well…" he began tentatively. "Could you maybe just shoot me a text when you get home or something? Just so I know you're not like, passed out on the subway…"

"Yeah, alright…" Arthur agreed, blushing furiously as he handed over his cell phone. The boy entered in his number and gave the device back with a mischievous smile.

"Feel better, Artie" he said, and, hesitating, he reached out and squeezed Arthur gently on the shoulder. Arthur sucked in a surprised breath, and tried with all his might not to tremble. He managed a small nod, and, satisfied, the boy pulled back his arm and smiled. "Don't forget to text!" he reminded, before crossing the street and racing down the block toward the subway stop.

"Right," Arthur mumbled after him, looking down at the phone in his hand. He flipped it up and scrolled through the contacts, frowning as he passed right through the As without seeing Alfred's number. Then, he found it.

"'_My Hero'?_ Oh, for the love of-! _Hardly!_" Arthur scoffed out loud to the empty street. Still, as he re-entered the store with the git's jacket wrapped comfortingly around him, he found he didn't quite have the heart to change it.

**~(o)~**

* * *

**A/N:** I smiled like a crazy person writing that last part :D

Thank you all for your phenomenal reviews! The 100th review contest is still on, (and yes, I will even do FrUK if that's what you'd like). If it comes to it, I hope to do the same for the 200th and (crosses fingers) 300th reviews too. We'll see how it goes :P

**UP NEXT:** FIGHT#2! Who's it gonna be, I wonder? Guess you'll just have to stick around to find out!


	13. Interlude: Texts From Last Night

**A/N:** Hey all! Firstly, THANK YOU so so much for over 100 reviews! I honestly can't believe how good it feels, you guys really made my week and a half :D Secondly, congratulations to Zaura Fay, my 100th reviewer, who requested a CanadaxNetherlands (^o^) fic which is in the works and should be up within a few days!

The next official chapter has been put on hold while I finish up the one-shot, so in the meantime please enjoy this fluffy little interlude. Thank you so much for reading ^^

* * *

**Interlude: **Texts from Last Night

~(o)~

**Text sent 4:34PM**

Hello. It's Arthur from the record shop. Just letting you know that I made it home all right like you asked me to. Right then, um, hope you're well. Cheers. –Arthur

**Text from: My Hero received 4:35PM**

YAAAAY! good i wuz worried! :DD how ya feelin?

**Text sent 4:39PM**

Truthfully? Bloody exhausted.

**Text from: My Hero received 4:39PM**

aww Artiiiieeee! :C

**Text from: My Hero received 4:39PM**

go to sleeeeep!

**Text sent 5:42PM**

Settle down, git, I'm resting. Or trying to at least. Francis is next to me watching some abysmal Johnny Depp film.

**Text from: My Hero received 4:43PM**

OOO IS IT PIRATES? pleez say its pirates! :P

**Text sent 4:48PM**

No, it's this load of romantic hogwash about chocolate or sommat. French-themed, of bloody course.

**Text sent 4:48PM**

And don't mention THAT sodding film to me ever again. It's a right bloody disgrace on the good name 'pirate'.

**Text from: My Hero recieved 4:49PM**

*gasp* WHAAA? no wai its one of my all time favs! we used to play the theme all the time in band :)

**Text sent 4:50PM**

You played in your high school band? Interesting. What instrument?

**Text from: My Hero recieved 5:50PM**

hell ya! 1st trumpet yo! XD

**Text sent 4:51PM**

Tch, that figures. Must do something with all that hot air, right?

**Text sent 4:59PM**

... I do hope you realise I'm kidding.

**Text from: My Hero recieved 5:04PM**

o shit srry i wuz talkin to Kiku

**Text from: My Hero recieved 5:04PM**

kidding huh? i dunno that text sounded awfuly sincere! how do i kno i can trust u? ;)

**Text from: My Hero recieved 5:10PM**

...Artie?

**Text from: My Hero recieved 5:16PM**

D:

* * *

**Text sent 5:53PM**

I'm sorry for not responding to your texts, Alfred. I… fell asleep.

**Text from: My Hero recieved 5:54PM**

haha dont be! im glad you finally got some rest :)

**Text sent 5:55PM**

Yes, I suppose I rather needed it.

**Text sent 5:55PM**

What are you up to then?

**Text from: My Hero recieved 5:55PM**

just headin to lab actually. we get our e. coli incubations back tonite!

**Text sent 5:57PM**

And you're excited about this?

**Text from: My Hero recieved 5:58PM**

course i am! i rocked that quadrant streak so hardcore last week! :D

**Text sent 5:59PM**

Right…

**Text sent 5:59PM**

Have fun with that then.

**Text from: My Hero recieved 6:01PM**

o i shall! :P ttyl!

* * *

**Text from: My Hero recieved 8:43PM**

soooo guess who had the most successful plate of bacteria growth in his intire lab section! :DD

**Text sent 8:46PM**

Ugh. That is absolutely disgusting.

**Text from: My Hero recieved 8:47PM**

nooo its honestly really cool! the e. coli turns this wicked pretty metallic green color wen it interacts with the agar ^^

**Text sent 8:48PM**

It's still bloody bacteria. I've got chills just thinking about it.

**Text from: My Hero recieved 8:48PM**

whatevs iggs :D all i kno is it beats the hell outta my friggin shakespeare class

**Text sent 8:49PM**

WHAT? How can you not like Shakespeare? The man was a bloody genius for God's sake!

**Text from: My Hero recieved 8:51PM**

ARGH that class is the only thing thats keeping me from a perfect gpa :(

**Text from: My Hero recieved 8:51PM**

seriosly its like hes writing in a whole other language!

**Text sent 8:53PM**

Mm, I suppose the Old English does take a bit to get used to…

**Text sent 8:53PM**

But really, once you have that down his works are ruddy brilliant.

**Text from: My Hero recieved 8:54PM**

pssh *eyeroll* ill take ur word for it iggy

**Text from: My Hero recieved 8:54PM**

speakin of which i prolly should go start my stupid 5 page reflection on "the relationship between gender and power in Macbeth" x_x

**Text sent 8:58PM**

Huh, that's honestly a rather interesting topic.

**Text sent 8:58PM**

...I'm a bit jealous, actually.

**Text from: My Hero recieved 9:01PM**

o_O

**Text from: My Hero recieved 9:01PM**

and u think IM weird...

**Text sent 9:02PM**

Go write your paper. Git.

**Text from: My Hero recieved 9:03PM**

pffft yes master...

**Text from: My Hero recieved 9:03PM**

of course master...

**Text from: My Hero recieved 9:03PM**

Rite away master...

**Text from: My Hero recieved 9:04PM**

Ur wish is my command master...

**Text sent 9:04PM**

CHRIST IN BLEEDING HELL WILL YOU STOP THAT ALREADY?

**Text from: My Hero sent 9:05PM**

ahahahahaha! XDDD

* * *

**Text from: Insufferable Git recieved 9:41PM**

OMG. okay so remember that polish kid who wuz with me the nite i first met u?

**Text sent 9:44PM**

…Perhaps. Was he the one that was dressed like a school girl?

**Text from: Insufferable Git recieved 9:45PM**

bingo :D anyway so his name is Feliks and he is freaking INSANE. the guy parties non-stop. hes tryin right now to get me n Kiku to go this damn fiesta thing this mexican chic is hosting =_=

**Text sent 9:47PM**

Well, are you going?

**Text from: Insufferable Git recieved 9:50PM**

uggghhh i dont knoooow D: the last time i had tequila i got wicked messed up. there are pictures in existence that i am not proud of

**Text sent 9:52PM**

Heh, I'd sort of like to see those.

**Text from: Insufferable Git recieved 9:53PM**

NOOONEVER! DEATH FIRST!

**Text from: Insufferable Git recieved 9:53PM**

seriosly theyre bad. it wuz all freakin Matt's fault. i swear that dude could outdrink an alcoholic polar bear

**Text sent 9:56PM**

Um… what?

**Text from: Insufferable Git recieved 9:57PM**

o ya did i mention that he actually has a PET polar bear? its like a minified version but wutever its still a freaking WILD ANIMAL

**Text sent 10:00PM**

No, you hadn't. And that's… insane.

**Text from: Insufferable Git recieved 10:02PM**

RIGHT? im surprised it haznt given him rabies yet

**Text sent 10:04PM**

Blimey. Does it live in your house?

**Text from: Insufferable Git recieved 10:05PM**

no thank GOD. it lives with my grampa up in the canadian boonies. Mattie um… moved out there for a while. he doesnt get along too well with the parentals :(

**Text sent 10:08PM**

Oh, wow. That must have been quite hard on you.

**Text from: Insufferable Git recieved 10:09PM**

ya it really was. i missed him like crazy…

**Text from: Insufferable Git recieved 10:14PM**

*sigh* okay i guess im gonna go out after all. if u don't hear from me for a few days just assume i died of alcohol-induced humiliation

**Text sent 10:18PM**

Alfred, listen… I know it's the weekend and you're in college, but… please try to be careful all right?

**Text from: Insufferable Git recieved 10:19PM**

:D dont worry ill be fine! im more worried about u! u feelin any better btw?

**Text sent 10:21PM**

Getting there. Much better than you'll be feeling tomorrow morning if you aren't careful, mind you.

**Text from: Insufferable Git recieved 10:22PM**

pssh okay mom XD

**Text sent 10:23PM**

I'm being bloody serious git! I've had more than my fair share of unpleasant experiences relating to the bloody stuff, so excuse me for trying to keep you from making descisions you'll only end up regretting!

**Text from: Insufferable Git recieved 10:25PM**

okay okay chill out! ill be good i promise :)

**Text from: Insufferable Git recieved 10:28PM**

hey... have a good night Artie okay?

**Text sent 10:31PM**

…Yes, you as well then. Goodnight, Alfred.

**Text sent 10:31PM**

*Git.

**Text from: My Idiot Hero received 10:33PM**

^o^

* * *

**A/N: **In case it wasn't already obvious, this little chapter is sort of a homage to my favorite USUK fic of all time, Ellarose C's The Baffled King and the Idiot Hero. Check it out if you haven't already, I promise it'll be worth your time.

Sorry about the lack of real chapter. It will be coming soon, I promise! Thank you so much for reading, and extra-thanks to my super-wonderful beta, Holly-Batali, for being so patient with me :D

Cheers, loves!


	14. Chapter 12: The Second Fight

**A/N: **Soooo, two and a half months... yeah. I am so, so sorry guys. I got really, really stuck with this chapter, you don't even know. But, the important thing is it's here now, right? Thank you all so much for your support so far, it is enormously appreciated.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Twelve:** The Second Fight

**From: Alfred (MIH)**

Yo iggypantz! just got back from floor wars! We kicked evryones ass and i ate an intire jar of pickels XD

Received November 19th 2011 at 10:34PM

Arthur looked out at the frigid, snowy night from the backseat of the Volkswagen and smiled. Though the boy's text made little sense to him (as was rapidly becoming the expected norm), Arthur was nonetheless unable to control the little flip his stomach did upon reading it. These involuntary fits of tingles had been hitting him for the better part of the day, each time the boy had texted in fact, and it was becoming harder and harder to come up with excuses for Francis and Associates as to why he had suddenly become so… distracted.

_Speaking of associates and distractions…_ Arthur covered his ears against the horrendous German cacophony that was currently blaring out of the car's speakers at an ungodly volume. Why he had agreed to getting a ride to the club from _Gilbert_ in the first place was absolutely beyond him. The last thing he needed tonight—of all nights—was a bloody wanker-induced headache.

He was fully prepared to make known his opinion on the racket, but was sidetracked when the phone in his lap vibrated once more:

**From: Alfred (MIH)**

Sooooouuuh… watcha up 2? :)

Received November 19th 2011 at 10:38PM

Arthur felt his smile fall into a contemplative wince. What was he up to indeed? _Oh, nothing much, Alfred. Just about to bash in some sorry bloke's brains for cash, illegally of course, Oh, did I forget to mention that I do prizefights for the Russian version of Al Capone? Sorry about that, must've slipped my mind. Oh, and by the way, since you happen to be one of the few people whose company I actually _enjoy_, there's a sporting good chance that, if I ever do manage to arse anything up, my boss could come after you with a bloody faucet pipe to "teach me a lesson" as it were._ _But enough about me, what's going on with you then? _

Right. That would go over well. If by "well" one meant that Arthur would in all likelihood see neither hide nor hair from the boy ever again, and really, wouldn't that be for the best? _Of course it would_, he reluctantly admitted to himself, but the thought alone made him sick to his stomach.

_No._ He would lie, just as he always did. Lie, like the miserable stinking coward he truly was-

Arthur was forced to cut short his self-bashing inner rant, finding himself suddenly preoccupied with being smashed into the side of the car as it whipped around a corner at near-breakneck speed.

"Christ, Beilshmidt! Are you fucking trying to get us bloody killed?" he hollered furiously, scrambling to retrieve his phone from the car floor. He was horrified when the albino driver turned around to address the accusation face-to-face.

"Sorry Tinkerbell!" he shouted back, steering blindly with no regard whatsoever. "I guess I forgot what a giant walking vagina you are-"

"_Watch the road, wanker!"_ Arthur shrieked, too panicked to register the taunt in all its offensive glory. "You know, I really should have known better than to trust my life with the likes of you!" he continued to fume, buckling himself in with earnest haste as, with a smirk, the German finally turned his attention back to his driving. "Honestly, I can't believe your brother was irresponsible enough to let you borrow his car in the first place!"

"Who says he knows," Gilbert returned, shooting Arthur another cocky smirk by way of the rearview mirror. "Oh, and if you're all done sexting with your little boytoy-" he added, ignoring Arthur's subsequent _'I was doing no such thing!'_, "…Toni here's got some dirt for you on the dude you're about to fight."

"_Si_, Eduard's been sending me _muchos_ updates on the DL. Here's what I got so far…" Antonio replied, flipping open his phone as he turned round to face Arthur. "…Guy's name is Lars Van Rijn. He's got a big rep up north – I guess he's working for some famous Dutch druglord? Anyway, according to Ed, he's tall, jacked, and has an ego the size of his hair, whatever that means…" A look of comprehension suddenly dawned on the Spaniard's tanned face. "_Ay dios mio_… you know, that actually sounds kind of familiar? I wonder if it's the same Lars Van Rijn whose sister I used to date…"

Arthur frowned, struggling to make sense of Antonio's babblings, but it was proving quite difficult as he still had to battle with the wretched excuse-for-music that was continuing to pound its way into his skull.

"Oi, wanker!" he shouted over the din. "Would it kill you to turn this tripe down to a normal human listening level?"

"Sorry, Kirkland, no can do! To turn down Ramstein would be like fuckin' blasphemy!" the albino called back cheerfully. " …Shit gets your heart pumping, don' it?" he added, after a fit of dangerously fervent headbanging.

"In a word, no!" Arthur growled back, already regretting bring the subject up at all. The wanker, of course, was not fazed in the slightest.

"Not doin' it for you, huh?" he mused, turning the abhorrent noise up _even louder_. "…S'weird, I'm feeling pretty good! In fact… eeeeeEEAAAAAHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!" the tosser suddenly unleashed a terrifyingly maniacal scream-cackle, tearing past the flashing gates that were coming down as an upcoming bridge opened to let a ship pass underneath. Arthur screamed as the albino floored it to clear the gap, praying desperately for an afterlife if only so that he could strangle the psychotic fucking_ nutter_ for all of bleeding eternity. But, before he could complete his request for vengeance, they had landed on the other side and were back to racing on level land.

"Oh, _scheiße_, what a rush!" the German whooped, grinning wildly at his own lunacy. "Tell me something," he prompted, turning the music down at last. "Am I awesome, or am I fucking _awesome_?"

"You… Are… _Mad._" was all Arthur, still gasping and clutching his chest, could manage for a reply.

"I'll take that as an awesome!" Gilbert declared, clapping a very white-faced Antonio on the shoulder as he revved up the engine for more insanity.

* * *

Against all odds, they managed to make it to the club without incident, but with only minutes to spare. Arthur all but leapt out of the hell-car, vowing to never again step into any sort of moving vehicle with the crazed German bastard so long as he still had the capacity for rational thought. He walked with purpose, saying a brisk hello to Eduard at the door before heading straight for a small washroom in the back in order to change into his fight clothes in privacy.

Locking the door, dropping the duffle from his shoulder to the floor, Arthur breathed a sigh of relief and immediately began to strip off his coat and the collared shirt/sweater combo he had on underneath, shivering a bit as the chilly, unheated air met the bare skin of his exposed chest. His mind drifted to Alfred and the bomber jacket, (which he had hidden safely within the confines of his room, lest Francis make some perverted comment). It was funny – he remembered so vividly the way the warm weight of it had felt on his shoulders, as if the boy himself was wrapping him up in those long, tanned arms…

BZZZT! Arthur startled as, just as he was pulling a pair of black gym shorts up around his hips, his phone vibrated loudly from the sink counter. With a heavy blush on his cheeks, he retrieved the device and read the waiting message:

**From: Alfred (MIH)**

Hey lol u fall asleep on me again or wut?

Received November 19 2011 at 10:52PM

This time the flip in Arthur's stomach was not tingly so much as queasy. Something, whether it had been his pride, his sense of self-preservation, or a subconscious avoidance of the inevitable, had prevented him from responding back to the boy's text from before. Biting hard on the insides of his cheeks, Arthur paused, then began to type out a careful reply:

'_My apologies, Alfred. No, I haven't fallen asleep, I was just busy-'_

Well, 'changing' wouldn't be a complete lie, would it? He _had _been changing after all, for the last minute or so anyway. Would the boy buy it? More importantly, would be able to stomach the sick feeling of guilt that was steadily welling up inside him?

He sent the message with a grimace, feeling dirty and deceitful, as if he were trying to cover up an affair or something. The phone buzzed once more against his palm, and Arthur pulled it up to eye level, almost hoping that Alfred would see through the lie and call him out on it:

**From: MIH**

Getting ready for bed huh? Good u need ur rest. I knoe u said ur feeling better but its still important 2 make a full recovery :)

Received November 19 2011 at 10:52PM

Well, that was the final nail in the coffin, wasn't it? Not only was the boy completely oblivious to Arthur's dishonesty, he was apparently bloody decent enough to be concerned about his health as well! How could it even be possible that a boy like Alfred could take such an interest in someone like him anyway, (especially since everything about the boy screamed straighter than a one-way street)? What did he do to deserve such attention? Nothing. He'd done worse than nothing. He was the shit on the heels of absolute scum…

Pressing a steadying hand to his face, Arthur closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tiled wall. He needed to pull himself together, or else the proverbial "s" was _really_ going to hit the fan. There wasn't much time before he had to- wait_, what time was it anyway?_

Almost as soon as he'd asked himself the question, a soft rapping sounded on the door:

"Um, Arthur? It's Toris. I don't mean to be a bother but, um… you were sort of supposed to be downstairs three minutes ago…"

"Oh, fuck_ me_!" Arthur cursed, scrambling around to collect his things. He stuffed the phone in his bag without typing back a response, telling himself he'd worry about it later after he'd gotten this bloody ordeal over with. But even as he burst through the door on the way to the ring, (mumbling a hasty apology to the Lithuanian trailing worriedly behind), Arthur's head was very much still full of Alfred, and the lies that were constricting around his conscience like a noose.

* * *

_CLANG!_

Arthur crashed back against the ropes, struggling to catch his breath as the bell signaling the end of the eleventh round sounded at last. This fight had been going on for bloody _ages_, and he could feel body protesting for rest. Wiping away the sweat that was dripping from his forehead, he cast a bitter glare over to the Dutch prick in the other corner, who still looked as cool and arrogant as ever – his bloody ridiculous hairdo hadn't even gotten mused, goddamnit!

The worst part about it was that he _knew_ he could have ended the fight countless times by now, had he only been able to keep his bloody head in the game. His uneasiness over the whole Alfred affair was clouding up his mind, causing him to make stupid mistakes and miss crucial opportunities, and now, what with his mounting exhaustion, it was getting to the point where it would take divine intervention for him to scrape out a win. Frankly, Arthur wasn't getting his hopes up.

After a full minute of harassment courtesy of a less-than-helpful German, ("My fucking Nana could put up a better fight than that, _Verdamt!_"), the bell sounded once more and Arthur was back in the ring. He told himself to stay sharp – the Dutch tosser could change his stance at a moment's notice – but he couldn't shake the irrational, looming fear that the boy had somehow discovered the truth. His eyes strayed constantly toward the crowd, half-expecting to find Alfred's face staring back at him, those blue eyes turned colder than icy wind outside…

"What's the trouble, little England, did your girlfriend not show up to cheer you on?" the Dutchman chuckled, bringing Arthur's attention back to focus as they circled each other like hungry sharks preparing for the kill.

Arthur scowled, his blood suddenly boiling: "Why don't you shut your bloody trap and hit me alread-" he started to spit back, but was viciously cut off when the Dutchman decided to comply with his request. His ribs screamed out as the brutal blow found its mark, and he stumbled backward, eyes watering in absolute pain. The Dutchman smiled triumphantly.

"Oh, sorry, were you not ready? I can do it again if you'd like," he said with a smirk, his voice quiet and condescending.

"Fuck off, why don't you?" Arthur shot back murderously. The anger was mostly an act, however, as Arthur was far too excited be properly enraged, having just discovered a fairly crucial point of interest. Up until now, his opponent's style had been low-key and rather infuriatingly lackadaisical – this sudden aggressiveness was surely a sign of one thing: the bastard was getting tired, and he wanted _out._

Arthur smiled internally; he'd found his foothold. Now all he had to do was lull the Dutchman into a false sense of security, get him to drop his guard, and the fight would be his – that is, as long as he had the strength left in him to take the wanker out for good. He braced himself as he sensed a fist coming straight for his abdomen, and took the hit with full force, grunting for effect. _Just a few more_, he told himself as the other man continued to throw punches with almost reckless abandon, growing more and more confident, sacrificing technique in favor of a quick finish. He felt the bruises blossoming across his body with every hit, could hear the panicked insults shouted from the crowd as they began to lose faith in him, but he continued to hold himself back, knowing all the while that he only had seconds before the bell rang yet again, and the momentum he'd created would be completely lost…

After a particularly brutal blow which landed him against the ropes, Arthur decided it was now or never. He let out an exaggerated moan, clutching his sides, drawing the other man over to him once more. _Wait for it… Wait for it…_

The prat took the bait and sauntered over, sniffing despairingly. "Pity…" the Dutchman drawled, pulling his arm back for one last devastating swing: "Come on now, little England, is this really all you've got?"

_Now._

With a deadly smile, Arthur looked up into the other man's eyes. "_Not quite_," he snarled and, grabbing the Dutchman with one hand, released a jaw-crunching blow right up into the Dutchman's chin. The prat staggered backward, wiping fresh blood from his lips, but Arthur was far from finished. Before the Dutchman could regain his stance, Arthur sent another punishing punch straight for the other man's cheek, then another, throwing the weight of his entire body into them until at last the Dutchman fell back into the ropes on the opposite side and slid down to the floor.

"Get up, wanker. I bloody _dare_ you." Arthur growled menacingly to the semi-conscious man. Blood pumped hot in his face as he stared down, relishing the sight of his competition lying still on the floor, body still burning with the explosive adrenaline rush that had just overwhelmed him, drinking in the roar from the crowd like water. It felt _good_, so goddamned bloody _fucking_ good. He was _made_ for this, goddamnit! He was fucking _England_!

But then, the feelings from before washed over him and his sense of victory melted quickly away, leaving instead a hollow shame at his own barbarianism. He slid out through the ropes, brushing past Antonio and Gilbert as they attempted to congratulate him, and pushed through the crowd toward the back corner of the club, scooping up his duffle along the way. He pulled out his cell phone, and with a peculiar mixture of anticipation and dread, read the message that was waiting for him:

**From: Alfred (MIH)**

Um so im guessing u actually did fall asleep this time which is totes

a good thing soo dont even worry about it! Sleep tight Artie!

i cant wait to see u again! :D

Received November 19 2011 at 11:56PM

Arthur groaned and slid down the wall to the floor, as the hopelessness of the situation hit him all over again. Even if, by some insane miracle, the boy did happen to be interested in _that way_, things could never work out so long as he stayed England. And he'd always be England.

That was the deal, after all.

**~(o)~**

* * *

**A/N: **So ,nothing special, but we're back on track at least. Oh, and that was the Netherlands by the way (^^). Which reminds me, the NethCan fic I wrote for Zaura Fay has been up for quite a while, (feel free to check it out if you'd like!) Once again, thank you all so much!

PS: I've made some edits to the previous chapters, nothing major. Thank you Trumpet-Geek for catching my error in chapter seven! And infinite thank you's to my lovely, amazing beta Holly-Batali!

Much Love,

~Lavender

**UP NEXT: **Another new face, and some quick thinking on Arthur's part lead to an interesting turn of events. Stay tuned!**  
**


	15. Chapter 13: The Invitation

**A/N: **Ahhh, you guys. I can feel myself losing steam with this story. I'm so sorry this took so long. I've had this chapter written for a while, but I was unhappy and couldn't figure out how to make it better. I still don't particularly like it, but the next one should be better. Thank you guys for sticking with me. I promise this story will get done, even if it kills me.

The first bit is a lil graphic, just fyi.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen** – The Invitation

…

_The room is swirling, and his peripheral vision is blurred with red. He wants to sink to his knees but he knows he can't, so he doesn't. A shadow moves liquid-like around him, and then he feels a hand on his shoulder and breath against his cheek._

"_You are showing improvement, Arthur…"_

_The tone is pleasant, but he doesn't trust it. The hand on his shoulder slides like ice down his arm and wraps itself around his wrist. Tightens._

"…_But not enough, I think."_

_His arm is suddenly wrenched behind him up to his neck, and the pain is enough to make him scream out. He feels something cold and metallic trace the bruises blooming across his back._

"_Now then…"_

_CRRAK! He is down on the floor and howling, blinding white hot fire searing between his shoulder blades. A kick to the stomach and he gags, spits up blood. Tears rip themselves from his eyes. _

_Above him, a looming darkness, and a glimmer of sliver._

"…_Let us see how much of a beating you can take." _

_..._

* * *

Arthur tensed as he watched Alfred pick at his waffles with his fork, tearing them up beyond all human recognition. The Shakespeare exam notes that were the original reason for this Sunday late morning meet-up sat forgotten near the edge of the table, but that was the least of Arthur's concerns. The boy was being unusually quiet today, and though Arthur had tried to ignore it thus far, he found himself growing more apprehensive with every passing second.

"Is… is something bothering you, Alfred?" he asked at last, tentatively, clutching his cup of tea with both hands to steady himself. He grimaced as the boy looked up and flashed him a small, not-nearly-as-heart-stopping-as-it-should-have-been grin.

"Nah, I was just spacin' out for a sec. Sorry." The boy was an exceptionally bad liar, so much so that Arthur was almost annoyed by it.

"Oh, come off it, lad," he pressed. "I've seen royal guardsmen that looked more chipper." Alfred frowned and turned toward the window, chewing on his bottom lip, and Arthur felt his heart begin to race and his stomach turn into a block of ice. _He knows. Fuck it all, he bloody knows…_

After what seemed like an eternity, the boy finally turned back to him:

"Um, well… I guess I've just been feelin' kinda homesick lately is all," he admitted, running a hand through his hair sheepishly.

Arthur blinked and froze for a moment, unsure if he'd heard correctly, then released a giggling, slightly hysterical sigh of relief.

"…Is that all?" The boy shot his a confused look. "Er… I mean, _I see_," Arthur recovered clumsily, soothing back his shot nerves with a lengthy of tea.

"Yeah, well, it's like… this is the first time I'm not going home for Thanksgiving, ya know?" Alfred continued, playing absentmindedly with the little jams in the condiment container. "I mean it wouldn't have made much sense cause my mom n' dad are in Africa till the end of the year and Mattie's going on this 'wilderness excursion' thing, but I dunno…" He sighed. "I guess I'm being kinda stupid, huh?"

"Of course not, Alfred," Arthur replied bracingly. "It's perfectly understandable that you feel that way." Alfred's eyes flicked down to the table, and Arthur followed them, realizing that he'd moved unconsciously to squeeze the boy's arm. He felt his face heat up immediately, but he couldn't help thinking about just how easy it would be to move his hand down just a smidge more and curl his fingers into the soft skin of Alfred's palm…

"Another refill for you?"

Arthur jumped in his seat and yanked his hand away, turning instead toward the smiling blond waitress who had suddenly appeared by their table.

"Er… yes, that would be lovely, thank you." His eyes met her own green pair as he handed over his cup, and he frowned at the look of dawning comprehension that flashed through her face.

"Ohhhhh, that's where I know you from!" the girl exclaimed excitedly as if she'd just solved a complicated puzzle she'd been working on. "You're that guy that kicked my brother's butt at the club last night, right? …Oh, don't worry-" she added upon noticing the no-doubt horrified look on Arthur's face. "-No hard feelings. Between you and me, he pretty much had it coming-"

"Uhhum! I'm _terribly_ sorry-" Arthur interrupted hastily, carefully avoiding Alfred's curious gaze. "-But I think you might have me confused for someone else." The waitress put her hands on her hips in showy disbelief.

"Oh, please, you're kidding me," she giggled. "There's no way I would forget a pair of eyebrows like _those_!"

"No, no, I _really_ think you must be mistaken," Arthur urged, brushing off the eyebrow comment in favor of pleading with eyes for the girl to play along with him. For one terrifying moment, Arthur was positive his message wouldn't be received, and Alfred would discover his secret after all, but after a quick side-glance over at the boy, things seemed to click in the girl's head.

Fortunately, she was a pretty good actress, effortlessly scrounging up a fake blush of embarrassment.

"Ohhh, you know, you're right! Now that I'm looking at you, it was another guy after all. Ohh gosh, I'm so sorry!-" she continued in her ditzy façade. "I do that kind of thing all the time!"Arthur relaxed, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"It's quite alright. Think nothing of it," he replied, flashing the girl a secret, appreciative grin, which she returned with an invisibly quick wink.

"Haha, well, I'll just go grab that tea, then!" the waitress announced, gracefully taking her cue to leave. Arthur would have to remember to leave a bleeding good tip.

_You're not out of the woods yet,_ he reminded himself. He turned back to the boy with what he hoped was a convincingly innocent expression, but grew anxious when he registered a glint of suspicion in the boy's eyes.

"What was that all about?" Alfred asked.

"Oh, who knows? Just one of those awkward mix-ups I suppose," Arthur attempted to brush off. The boy was still looking at him much more piercingly that he would have liked. _Shite_. He needed to come up with some sort of distraction, and _fast_…

"Artie," Alfred began carefully. "Are you sure there's noth-"

"Say Alfred, you know, I was just thinking-" Arthur cut in, letting his mouth do the thinking for him. "Peter will be coming to spend the holiday at my apartment, and well, I hadn't really planned on doing much anything spectacular, but if you haven't got any other plans, well, I just thought you might like to, um... join us." The blush was crawling up to his ears before he even fully caught on to what he was saying. _Ohhhh, god, what have I done?_

"Iggy, are you really inviting me over for Thanksgiving?" he asked, eyes all alight in way Arthur found to be maddeningly irresistible.

"Y-yes?" he replied shakily, trying to get a hold of himself. "Yes." He finally managed with confidence, and the sunny smile that followed warmed him straight to the core.

Even still, the sense of foreboding that immediately sank upon him was enough to make him wonder if he'd just made the situation exponentially worse...

_ Bollocks._

* * *

**A/N:** Still needs some work, but I think it's better if I move on rather than get sucked up in little details. Again, thank you guys for all your support. Thanks as always to my beta Holly-Batali, this chapter wouldn't be up if it weren't for her. :)

**UP NEXT:** A Very Hetalian Thanksgiving, and the turkey's not all that's gonna be cookin'! (I have been waiting so long to write this next chapter guys you don't even _know_)


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